This is No Game
by mojoco
Summary: An alternate ending/ future for "The Game of Life."
1. Her Mother's Daughter

Okay, here's the premise. What if things had gone horribly, horribly wrong at the end of "The Game of Life?" What if Sydney and Michael hadn't been able to convince Jack that they were on his side, if Michael had died at the hands of an overzealous CIA agent when they'd tried to escape?

Here's the thing, I'm really interested in exploring Sydney's "evil" side, and after "The Counteragent," I think we can all agree that she has one. I'm still going to keep going with the original sequel to "The Game of Life," "The Way You Play the Game," but this is a darker, alternate future. Read at your own risk. And if you do read, please let me know what you think-- I'm trying something really different here, and I'd love to know how you think I'm doing.

So here it is:

****

This Is No Game

*_An alternate ending and future for "The Game of Life"*_

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, etc.

Rating: R

Distribution: Cover Me; anywhere else, just let me know

Chapter One: Her Mother's Daughter

It hadn't been supposed to end like this.

She had tasted freedom. She had seen the future, and it had not been like this. The future she had envisioned had been her and Michael on a sparsely inhabited island, sipping margaritas on the beach while their children played in the water. Even in her worst nightmares, she had not pictured this. She had pictured her mother kidnapping her children. Herself and Michael behind bars. Never had she pictured Michael, her beautiful, precious Michael, in the ground. Dead. Killed right before her eyes.

She barely slept anymore. Every time she closed her eyes, the scene played out before her. 

She and Michael, returning from a night out in St. Bart's. Hands and lips all over each other.

Her father, waiting for them. But he hadn't been the only one. There had been CIA agents all around the perimeter of the house. And when Sydney had not been able to convince her father that she had not betrayed him, when it had been clear that she and Michael would be taken into custody, they had run. One of the CIA agents had shot, and Michael had been killed.

She had collapsed by his side, sobbing, begging him not to leave her. It was too late. He was already gone, green eyes glassy, lips frozen.

Her father had knelt beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder, presumably to comfort her. She had pushed him away. This was all his fault. If he had never approached her with that offer, this never would have happened. She and Michael would still be safe within the protective arms of the Organization. Her Michael would still be with her.

And her father had dragged her sobbing form up from the ground, shackled her, and taken her into custody. She had barely even cared. If Michael was gone, what did it matter where she was taken? She knew that was selfish of her, that she should have been worried about her children. She wasn't. Her mother would take care of them. If she had listened to her mother, hadn't tried to betray her mother, none of this would have happened. Her Michael would still be with her.

It was her mother who was her savior then, her mother who had busted her out of custody. And as soon as it was safe to, Sydney had collapsed sobbing in her arms, chanting over and over, like a prayer--

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so, so sorry, Mom."

"Shh, baby, don't apologize," her mother had crooned, holding her tightly to her. "Mommy's going to take good care of you."

Sydney was almost forty years old then. No words had ever sounded more comforting.

"But what about--" Sydney had barely been able to speak around her sobs. "Dad-- he-- he knows where our operation is, he--"

"Don't worry about that, my darling." Irina gently pulled away from her daughter, just enough that she could look her in the eyes. "He was the only one who knew. And he has been taken care of."

And Sydney had felt relief wash over her. And she had known she was her mother's daughter.


	2. Fighting

****

Chapter Two: Fighting

"Sydney, darling."

Sydney's eyes fluttered open, revealing to her the concerned face of her mother, who was bearing a tray of food. "Mom." Lately, the sight of the woman she had once so despised brought with it the most glorious feelings of relief and comfort.

"Sweetheart, you need to eat something."

Sydney managed the briefest of smiles. She knew her mother was trying to be helpful, but she really wasn't hungry. Michael had been gone for a month now, and still she felt herself unable to feel anything but pain. "I can't, Mother."

"Of course you can," Irina said soothingly. "Come, now. Sit up."

Reluctantly Sydney obliged, leaning against the headboard as Irina positioned the tray over her lap. She moved to spoon feed her daughter, but Sydney shook her head. "I can do it." But when she moved to lift the spoon, she found she was shaking so hard she couldn't bring it even halfway to her mouth. In the end, she let her mother feed her, spoonful after spoonful until the soup was gone.

"Good girl." Irina smoothed Sydney's hair back from her face lovingly as she moved the tray away. "Honey, I really am worried about you. Nothing's gotten you out of bed since--"

She didn't have to say the rest of the sentence; Sydney knew how it would end. _Since Michael's funeral_. She closed her eyes, recalling the tender hand Sark had placed on her shoulder that day. "_I'm so sorry, Sydney_." She'd been surprised at his kindness; she'd treated him atrociously the past few years, cutting his responsibilities here and there until he was little more than a hired gun. He was capable of so much more. She swore she'd make it up to him.

"I can only imagine how you must be hurting," Irina continued, her voice as warm and soothing as a warm bath. "But you can't go on like this forever. Your children need you."

Sydney sighed, burying her head in her pillow. "I'm sure you're taking care of them better than I could," she said, her voice cracking as she said it. She had failed so miserably with everyone who had ever loved her; why should she expect to do any better with her own children? Michael's children. Two lifetime reminders of the man she would never see again.

"I'm doing my best, Sydney. But they need their mother." Irina continued to stroke and smooth Sydney's hair as she spoke, her voice almost hypnotic. "And I need you, too. I wanted so badly to retire, sweetheart. Who's going to run the Organization until your Jack's old enough?"

Sydney sat up, surprised. "You trust me to do that?" she asked, incredulous.

"Of course, my darling." Irina rose from the bed, smiling down at her daughter. "You won't try to betray me again." It was both a statement and a threat, one Sydney didn't intend to ignore.

"Of course, I don't expect you to take over the responsibility on your own," Irina went on. "Sydney, I know that over the past few years you and Sark have had your differences, but--"

"You don't need to convince me of his worth," Sydney cut in. "My problems with him were personal, not professional, and it was ridiculous of me to let my feelings get in the way of my working relationship with him." In truth, the problem had been that the more time she spent with him, the more she found herself liking and admiring him-- his abilities, his ruthlessness. The feelings had scared the hell out of her; she wasn't supposed to feel anything but contempt for the qualities he possessed. The most alarming part was that when she was around him, she felt similar qualities coming to the surface in herself, much as she tried to fight them.

She didn't feel like fighting anymore. 


	3. Keep Her Distance

****

Chapter Three: Keep Her Distance

Irina scheduled a meeting with Sydney and Sark for the day after she had spoken to Sydney about taking over the Organization. Sydney got the message loud and clear: _You will get out of bed, Sydney. You will start your life again._ And Sydney she was right, that it was time to enter the world again. Even if it was a world that didn't include Michael.

It was just so hard.

"Wake up, Sydney," her mother said, so softly that Sydney could almost ignore it. Stay in her dreams, stay with Michael in happier times.

"_Rise and shine, baby._"

"_Mmm. Five more minutes, sweetheart_."

"_If you spend the next five minutes in bed, you're not going to be sleeping_."

Only days before he'd died. God, if she'd only known. Would she have done anything differently?

At least she could say no with some degree of confidence. Michael had died knowing she loved him. At least she could say that much.

"Sydney," Irina said again, a bit more loudly this time. "You must get up. Sark will be here for our meeting soon."

That got Sydney's attention. "He's coming _here_?"

"Yes, darling." Irina said with a thin-lipped smile. "I thought it would be nice if the three of us had breakfast. Mrs. Patterson is here to cook for us, and Mrs. Simmons is watching the children."

Sydney nodded. "I'll shower." She forced herself out of bed, pausing at the door to her bathroom. "I think I might have to move, Mom."

Irina raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

"I--" Sydney took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. No tears today. Today, she began her life again. "I don't think I can keep sleeping in Michael's bed without him."

"Oh, honey," Irina said with a sympathetic smile. "Maybe you and the children should come stay at Headquarters for awhile."

Sydney paused. She'd been so thrilled when she and Michael had moved out of Headquarters into their own home, so thrilled not to have to live and breathe the Organization like her mother did. Now, though, what else did she have? "I'll think about it," Sydney said uncertainly. "It would be nice for the kids and I to get our own place."

Irina smiled. "Whatever you wish, my darling. Now, do hurry, Sydney. Sark will be here within the hour."

Sydney did as she was told and showered, wrapping herself in a fluffy white robe. She stood in her walk-in closet, willing herself not to look at Michael's side. Of course she hadn't been able to force herself to clean it out yet; his dress shirts hung in a perfect row, just waiting to be worn.

She focused her attention on her own clothes, wondering what to wear for her first day back in the land of the living. Her hand fluttered across her business suits, dark and severe. No. Not today. Her first day back called for something more cheerful. She opted for a sleeveless lavender dress with a flirty neckline and strappy black shoes; she then blow dried her hair, curled it, and clipped it back with a silver barette. She carefully applied lipstick, blush, and eye makeup before daring to look in the mirror.

She would have looked perfect, if not for her eyes. No amount of makeup could have disguised her sadness.

Still, her mother was kind when Sydney made her way down the stairs. "You look lovely, darling," she said, planting a kiss on her cheek."

"Thank you, Mother," Sydney said demurely, trying for a reasonable facsimile of a smile.

"Yes, Sydney." Sydney turned her fabricated smile toward Sark, who stood with his hands folded in front of him. "It's nice to see you up and about."

"Thank you, Sark." Sydney studied him, biting her lower lip in consideration. "I feel like I should apologize for the way I've treated you the past couple of years."

"Think nothing of it, darling." Sydney winced, wishing he wouldn't use such endearments with her.

His doing so only reminded her of why she'd wanted to keep her distance from him in the first place.


	4. The Land of the Living

****

Chapter Four: The Land of the Living

"So we'll see you at the office Monday, Sydney?"

"Yes, Mother." 

Sydney sat back in the dining room chair with a sigh of relief. Good. She'd made it through her first meeting back in the land of the living. It hadn't been as painful as she'd expected.

"Mommy!"

Sydney looked up with a start as her daughter came hurtling across the room, climbing busily onto Sydney's lap.

"Hi there, sweetheart," Sydney said, tears springing to her eyes. For almost a month she'd all but ignored her little girl, Michael's little girl. How could she have done such a thing?

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vaughn," Mrs. Simmons said, rushing into the room. "I turned my back for one minute--"

"It's perfectly all right, Mrs. Simmons," Sydney cut in. "In fact, why don't you have Jack come see me, as well?"

"Yes, Mrs. Vaughn."

Sydney smiled. That was something she'd always enjoyed about her life since she'd come to work for her mother-- the way people jumped at her every whim, rushed to please her. _Power_. It had worked almost like a drug for her ever since--

Well, ever since Danny had died, and she'd realized how powerless she was to control almost anything. And now, years later, she had been reminded of that again. Her Michael had been taken from her. The control she had over the Organization, over her employees, was the only control she could count on now.

"I'm glad you're up, Mommy," Emily said, throwing her arms around her mother's neck. "Are you feeling better?"

Sydney looked across the table at Irina, who smiled encouragingly.

"Having you with me makes me feel better, sweetheart," Sydney said, kissing the top of the little girl's head.

Emily hugged her mother tightly before turning her attention to Sark, who was watching the two of them with a soft smile, a smile that Sydney found a bit startling, given who was wearing it.

"Who are you?" Emily asked.

"Emily, this is Mr. Sark," Sydney told her.

"Hello, princess," Sark greeted her, and Sydney winced. Michael had always called her princess.

"Hello," Emily responded solemnly.

"Mom!"

A grin crossed Sydney's face almost in spite of herself as her son entered the room. "Jack."

"Oh, Mom, I'm so glad you're okay," Jack said, throwing his arms around his mother.

"Me, too, honey," Sydney said, though she wasn't sure if she was okay, exactly.

Like Emily, Jack turned his attention to Sark next. "What are you doing here?"

"Jack--"

"Mr. Sark's going to help me run the Organization, sweetheart," Sydney cut in, before her mother could tell Jack to mind his manners.

"Why?" Jack demanded, fixing a glare on Sark.

"Because I can't do it alone, sweetie," Sydney told him.

Jack turned away from Sark, fixing his green eyes on his mother. Michael's eyes. "Can you take care of us alone?"

It was a challenge, and a question: _Are you going to replace my dad_? A month, and he was already worried about that.

Emily, she would never ask such a question. She was so young, Sydney imagined that before long, she wouldn't even remember her wonderful father, a thought that made Sydney's heart ache.

"I have your grandma and Mrs. Simmons to help me with that, Jack," Sydney said firmly, hoping that her eyes answered his question. _Never_. Perhaps one day she would be with someone other than Michael, but-- oh, she couldn't even think about that just then. "Are we finished here, Mother?" she asked.

"Yes, Sydney," Irina responded, rising from the table. "I'll show Mr. Sark out."

Sydney nodded mutely as Sark stood, as well, touching Sydney's shoulder as he passed. "Take care, Mrs. Vaughn."

"Thank you," Sydney managed. She knew the polite thing to do would have been to stand and say goodbye properly, but she couldn't quite force herself to do that.

It was all she could do to just sit there with her children and not burst into tears. 


	5. The Kiss of Death

****

Chapter Five: The Kiss of Death

"You did marvelously, Mrs. Vaughn," Sark murmured in her ear as the rest of the Organization's higher-ranking employees filed out of the conference room. Sydney winced. When her mother was caring and encouraging, it seemed sweet; when Sark behaved the same way, it seemed out of place, strange. Almost sinister.

Nevertheless, she murmured a thank you, leaning back in her high-backed leather chair. She had just led her first meeting back at the Organization, and while it had gone reasonably well, the way everyone was tiptoeing around her made her want to scream. How could she hope to get back to normal when everyone was treating her as if she were made of glass?

"I could use a drink, Sark," she said, rubbing her temples tiredly. "Would you mind terribly--?"

"Of course not, darling." Sydney wished he wouldn't call her that, but with the way he was jumping at her every desire lately, she didn't feel like she could complain. She imagined his compliant attitude would end the minute they had their first disagreement. For as little interaction as she'd had with him in the last couple of years, she did recall that he had quite the stubborn streak, and that he hated to be second-guessed.

"Scotch?" he questioned from behind the mini-bar that rested in the corner of the room.

"Fine," she nodded. "Sark, darling--" Oh, shit, she was doing it, too. "I was wondering what you thought we should do about Banning."

"What do you mean, Sydney?" When Sark addressed her formally, she was Mrs. Vaughn; any other time, she was Sydney.

"Well," Sydney pointed out. "It was she who alerted Jack Bristow as to the location of our operation, she who made it possible for him to contact me." _She, ultimately, who got Michael killed_. Of course she didn't say the last part. Of course she didn't really believe it, not completely, anyway.

"Brooke let Irina know as soon as Bristow made contact with her, Sydney," Sark said, placing the drink in front of her. "You can't say the same, now, can you?"

Sydney looked up in surprise. It was the first time anyone had pointed out the errors she'd made; her mother seemed to believe that she'd suffered enough, learned her lesson. "Of course I've wondered a million times what would have happened if I'd gone to my mother the day my father contacted me with the offer," she murmured, rising from her seat to pace toward the window. She'd come to the same realization each time: had she done so, her father would be in the ground now, and not Michael. "I may have made mistakes, Sark. But it was Banning's carelessness that allowed my father to identify her as an employee of the Organization in the first place."

"Please, Sydney," Sark said derisively. He stood beside her, his own drink in hand. "You've had a vendetta against Banning ever since she tried to seduce your precious Michael."

Sydney's eyes flashed. She'd known Sark's good attitude couldn't last. "That happened more than ten years ago. Of course that's not what this is about."

"Of course it's not," Sark said, his voice low and taunting. He downed the rest of his drink and set it on the conference table behind them. "What makes you more angry, Sydney? That she would have dared try and take your sweetheart away from you? Or that she almost succeeded?"

Sydney's hand flew up to slap him across the face. It was a reflex action, one she hadn't necessarily intended. "Michael would _never_ have touched that common piece of street trash," she hissed.

"Of course not, Sydney," Sark said, a condescending smirk playing over his face even as he rubbed the spot she had slapped. "Michael was a saint. I'm sure he'll become even more of one in your mind now that he's--"

"_Just stop it_!" Sydney screamed.

A moment of silence hung between them. Sydney gulped the liquid in her glass, willing herself to stop shaking.

"Fine, Sydney." Sark stepped behind her; he wasn't touching her, but his nearness to her made her feel as if he was. "Remember your marriage however you wish. But you weren't exactly innocent of outside flirtations, either, hmm?"

Sydney froze, unable to move even as he continued to whisper in her ear. "The truth is, regardless of Michael's attraction to Banning so many years ago, the man was very nearly a saint. He did good work at this organization, yes. But he hated it. The things he had to do each day made him positively ill."

Sydney felt tears spring to her eyes, but she didn't stop Sark from continuing. So far the man hadn't said one thing that was a lie. "You were never so good, and it scared you shitless," he said in her ear, voice low. "The idea that you could have so much more in common with your mother, with me, people you'd always claimed to despise, than with your husband, the man you'd promised to love for all eternity, absolutely terrified you."

Sydney felt a tear run down her cheek. Sark put his hands on her shoulders, turning her so she was facing him. She didn't resist as he lifted his hand to wipe away her tears. "Poor Sydney," he whispered, taking her empty glass and placing it on the table next to his. "You tried so hard to be good for your Michael, but you never really succeeded, did you? You enjoyed your work here a little too much, took too much pleasure in other people's pain."

Sydney continued to cry, silently. When Sark pulled her to him, slipping his arms around her comfortingly, she didn't stop him. She needed to cry, not for Michael now, but for the part of her that had died along with him. The last part of goodness in her, the part that had known the things she was doing in the Organization were terribly wrong and had despaired at the pleasure she had taken in doing them.

"Michael's gone now, Sydney," Sark crooned. "He loved you very much, and I know you loved him, too. But your desire to be good for him, your fear of making him unhappy, kept you from being the leader you could have been. The person who runs this organization needs to be ruthless." He kissed her cheek, and she closed her eyes, wishing this wasn't happening, but knowing it had to. She had to lose her soul if she was ever going to get over losing Michael, if she was going to continue as a leader of this organization. "Remorseless." His lips fell on her other cheek, kissing away the tears that had fallen there. "You can be those things, Sydney. The only question is, will you?" He kissed her once, gently, on the lips, and she gave him her answer.

"Yes."


	6. The Replacement

****

Chapter Six: The Replacement

  
"You would have been proud of Sydney at the meeting today."

Irina looked up at Sark disinterestedly, and Sark frowned. He'd thought when she'd announced that he would be helping Sydney run the Organization, it meant that maybe she was ready to treat him like a human being. He should have known better. The only people he'd ever seen her treat with even a shred of decency were Sydney, Sydney's children, and of course, the dear, departed Michael.

"What's the matter, Irina dear?" Sark asked, moving into the chair opposite her desk.

"I don't know," Irina said distractedly, staring off into the distance. "I'm afraid I pushed Sydney into this too soon."

Sark raised his eyebrows in surprise. "She'd hardly been out of bed in a month, Irina."

"I know." To Sark's surprise, Irina's eyes actually filled with tears. Then she said something Sark would never have expected her to say in a million years. "I can't help but feel a bit responsible for Michael's death."

"Irina!"

"I do," Irina insisted. "I knew she was thinking about taking her father's deal, and I made her feel like doing so would be so deadly--"

"It would have been deadly," Sark said roughly. "To the Organization. We all would have gone to prison, Irina."

Irina looked at him as if he were, in fact, the stupidest person in the world. Sark hated how she acted like she was the most intelligent person alive, though, in fact, she might have been. "You know as well as I do that there are ways of avoiding such things, Sark. And as for the Organization folding, well--" she shrugged. "I'm getting older. Maybe I could have stood to say goodbye to all I've worked for if it meant that Sydney and Michael would have been happy."

"And that would have been extremely selfish of you," Sark snapped. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Maybe _you_ wouldn't have gone to jail, but your employees would have. This hardly just affects you."

"I know," Irina said with a sigh.

Sark shook his head in disgust. "I think it's a good thing you're retiring," he sneered. "If this is the way you're thinking. I hope Sydney hasn't gone so soft."

Irina shook her head sadly. "That's just it, Sark. This thing that's happened to her, losing Michael-- it will only harden her. Make her think there's nothing good left in this world." She stared off into the distance, a soft smile spreading across her lips. "I was awful to Michael in the beginning, you know."

Sark smirked. "If you think having Brooke Banning throw herself at him was awful, yes, I suppose you were. A lot of men would have been thrilled to have a roll in the hay with her."

"A lot of men _have_ been thrilled to have a roll in the hay with her," Irina pointed out derisively. "No, but-- things had been better with us, in the past few years. When I went to see Sydney, after I knew her father had contacted her," she reminisced. "Michael kissed my cheek, and Sydney got this flickering of a look on her face, just for a second, as if to say, _when did this start_? The truth was, he stopped finding me so repulsive around the time Emily was born. He was a wreck, spending all of his time at the hospital with her and Sydney. I was the one who convinced him that he needed to come home once in awhile, that his son needed him. He was always grateful to me for that. Much as it pained him to see that there might be some good in his evil mother-in-law, he was grateful to me for that."

Sark wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that. He decided it best to stay silent.

Irina rose from her chair, pacing to the window and gazing out. "It never mattered what he thought of me, though," she said, staring out at the courtyard below. "It only mattered that he loved Sydney, and he did, Sark. He loved her so much."

Sark shifted in his seat uncomfortably. While at some level, he knew he should feel badly for Sydney, for what she had lost, he just didn't. He'd meant what he'd said when he'd told Sydney that Michael had kept her from reaching her true potential as a leader. He wouldn't miss him.

"I was the one who pushed her out of bed, pushed her to start living again," Irina continued. "But the truth is, I have no idea how she's going to go on without him."

Sark rose from his chair and moved to stand behind her, planting his hands on Irina's shoulders. "I'll help her."

Irina stared at him, her eyes showing an odd mixture of repulsion and acceptance. "Please don't try and take his place."

Sark felt an odd stab of anger and jealously, knowing that no matter how much time passed, he'd always be in Michael's shadow. He could only comfort himself with the fact that Michael wasn't around anymore.

He was. And everyone had better get used to it.


	7. Sleeping With the Enemy

****

Chapter Seven: Sleeping With the Enemy

His lips touched her neck, and she giggled and twisted away, turning to face him, wrap her arms around him. "Sark," she laughed. "Not here." She didn't need the scene that would ensue if Jack walked in and caught them.

"I can't help it, Sydney," he responded, his voice low. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"Mmm," she said, not resisting this time as he began kissing a trail down her neck. "I have a pretty good idea."

"Mommy?"

Sydney momentarily froze, gently pushing him away, though luckily, it was Emily, and not Jack. Her memory was shorter. She didn't look at Sydney like she was betraying Michael every time Sark so much as laid a hand on her.

Michael had been gone for a year now. Sydney had been letting Sark into her bed for six months.

Not Michael's bed-- no, as she'd told her mother she would, she and the children had moved something like a month after she had managed to drag her ass out of bed, into a sumptuous penthouse apartment in a building within walking distance of Organization headquarters. The house she'd shared with Michael had been all hardwood floors and green lawns and white picket fences. The new place was all marble and slate gray and glass. It suited her new self, she thought. Cold. Dark. Empty.

Except when Sark was inside of her, filling her. Adoring every inch of her flesh, her skin, her beautiful, soulless body. Without his urging, she didn't know if she ever would have been able to make the transition into the ruthless leader she'd become as of late.

She'd been good at what she did at the Organization before. She was better now. After all, it was all she had.

Except for Sark, who was so enmeshed in the Organization that it and he were practically one and the same.

And except for the children, the younger of the two who stood before her now, smiling.

"Emily," Sydney said, returning the little girl's smile. Emily was the one bit of sweetness and light left in her life, the one person in the world, perhaps, who loved her unconditionally. Sark and her mother would turn on her if she ever betrayed the Organization, and Jack…

She was fairly certain that Jack hated her now. Hated her for moving him from the home they'd shared with his father. Hated her for moving on.

"How was school today, my darling?" Sydney asked her daughter. Emily had recently started kindergarten; it was a little early to tell, but it looked like she would be every bit as brilliant as her older brother. The fact that she was also obedient and well-behaved would make her a tremendous asset to the Organization one day.

"It was good, Mommy," Emily said with an angelic smile, which she turned toward Sark then. "Are you going to have dinner with us?"

"If it's okay with you, sweetheart," Sark said charmingly, slipping an arm around Sydney's waist.

"It's okay," Emily said with a shrug.

"I'm not eating here," Jack announced, storming into the room with his backpack over his shoulder. "I'm going over to Alex's to do homework."

"Oh, no, you're not," Sydney told him coolly. "Your grandmother's coming over for dinner, and she's expecting to see you."

"I told him he could, Mrs. Vaughn," Mrs. Simmons said apologetically, appearing behind him. "I didn't expect you home so early and--"

"That wasn't your decision to make, Mrs. Simmons," Sydney interrupted, her voice icy. "And please tell Mrs. Patterson that Mr. Sark and my mother will be dining with us."

"Yes, Mrs. Vaughn," Mrs. Simmons said, hurrying back out of the room.

Jack dropped his backpack on the floor with a thud, glaring up at his mother. "If I don't do my homework with Alex, I won't do it at all," he threatened.

"Oh, yes, you will," Sydney responded, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I'll stand over your shoulder after dinner and see that you do."

"No you won't," Jack said, fixing his glare on Sark. "You'll be too busy with him."

Sydney opened her mouth to answer, but she was interrupted by the sound of the ringing doorbell.

"That'll be your grandmother," Sydney said with a sigh. "Could you please let her in, Jack?"

"Fine," Jack grumbled, marching off toward the front door.

Sydney moved to sit on the leather sofa, rubbing her temples tiredly. Another headache. She'd never had as many headaches as she'd had in the last year. Sometimes she even allowed herself one of the lovely little pills her mother's doctor had prescribed more than a year ago, though more often she didn't. They made her rather incoherent and ineffectual, though they made her feel awfully nice.

A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she looked up at the other thing that made her feel awfully nice.

"Are you okay, my darling?" he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm fine, baby," she responded, smiling up at him. "Just-- would you mind getting me a drink?"

"Of course not, love," he said, moving toward the wet bar that rested in the corner of the room.

"Grandma!" Emily squealed as the woman entered the room, Jack at her side.

"Hello, angel," Irina said with a gentle smile. Her eyes came to rest on Sydney, who stood to greet her. "Sydney, darling. Are you feeling all right?"

"Just a little headache," Sydney responded, doing her best to return her smile. Her mother worried about her so much these days.

"Here you are, sweetheart," Sark said, kissing her cheek as he handed her the tumbler of scotch. "Hello, Irina."

"Hello, Sark," Irina said, a faintly disapproving smile flashing across her face.

"I'm going to go call Alex and tell him I can't come," Jack announced.

"Fine, Jack," Sydney said with a sigh. "Emily, why don't you go find that picture you drew to show your grandma, okay? The one with the butterfly?"

"Okay," Emily said, hurrying out of the room after her brother.

"Would you like a drink, Irina?" Sark asked.

"Yes, thank you, Sark," Irina responded. "Scotch. Sydney, why don't we sit down?"

Sydney obliged, returning to the leather couch. 

"Jack was supposed to go somewhere with Alex?" Irina asked her.

"Just to his house, to do homework," Sydney replied. "I thought he should stay and have dinner with us."

"I understand he's been having trouble in school," Irina said, a concerned frown crossing her face.

"He is," Sydney confirmed with a sigh. "I've been called in to speak to the principal twice in the last week. They don't know what to do with him, Mom, and neither do I."

"He's been through a lot of changes lately, Sydney," Irina pointed out, shooting a meaningful glance at Sark.

"Mother, I--"

"Here you are, Irina," Sark interrupted, handing her the drink.

"Thank you," Irina responded with a cool smile. "Sydney, darling. Didn't you say you'd done some redecorating in the bedroom?"

Sydney looked at her mother quizzically for a moment before getting the hint. "The new curtains," she said finally. "Would you like to see them?"

"Yes, dear," Irina said, rising from the couch. "Do excuse us, Sark."

They had barely closed the bedroom door behind them before Irina hissed, "I don't trust him."

Sydney's eyes widened. "What? Mother--"

"I didn't want to say anything, because at first he seemed to be just what you needed," Irina said in a rush. "You took Michael's death so hard, and he helped you snap out of it, helped you--"

"You're the one who named him as the co-successor to your throne, Mother," Sydney interrupted, bewildered. 

"I know I did, Sydney," Irina said with a sigh. "But I'm afraid that you've let him get too close, too fast. You were so vulnerable, and he took advantage of that."

Hot tears stung behind Sydney's eyes. "He cares about me, Mother."

Irina raised one eyebrow. "He cares about his standing in the Organization, Sydney," she responded coolly. "And he likes that you let him fuck you."

Sydney raised her hand to slap her mother across the face, but Irina caught her by the wrist. "Don't forget all I've done for you, Sydney," she said, her voice cold. "I very well could have imprisoned you for the way you tried to betray me a year ago, made your life into the worst kind of hell. Do you understand that?"

Sydney snatched her hand back from her mother's grasp, willing herself to keep her emotions under control. "I understand, Mother," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "And I'm very grateful that you trusted me enough to give me control of the Organization." _Except you didn't_, she added silently. _You asked that bastard Sark to keep an eye on me, to keep me under control, and now you hate that I've let him do exactly that. _"But I'm going to have to ask you to stay the hell out of my personal life."

Irina let out a cold, mirthless little laugh. "You have no personal life, Sydney, and you never have. Everything you do affects the Organization, and that means that everything you do affects me."

"The Organization is more powerful than it's ever been," Sydney responded coolly. "Perhaps you're envious that it was my leadership that brought it to where it is today, and not yours."

Irina's eyes flared, and for a moment, Sydney was afraid that it might be her mother who slapped _her_, and not the other way around. "You self-important little bitch," Irina said instead. "I built this Organization up from the ground, you're in charge for a year, and you think you can take credit for its success?"

"Michael and I had a large part in running it for the last ten years," Sydney pointed out.

A flicker of a smile crossed Irina's face. "Yes. Michael," she said, cocking her head to one side. "I wonder," she said slowly. "What he would say if he could see you now?"

Sydney felt the tears spring to her eyes, but she did her best to ignore them. "Michael is dead."

Irina nodded. "Yes, he is," she said. "Why don't you ask your lover what he had to do with that?"

Sydney's eyes widened at the implication of the remark. What was she talking about? Michael had been killed by a trigger-happy CIA agent…hadn't he? "What are you talking about?"

Irina only laughed in response. "You really are a stupid girl," she said, everything in her voice, her body, the way she moved, screaming that she found her daughter completely and utterly disgusting. 

"You're not even smart enough to know when you're sleeping with the enemy."


	8. Intentions

****

Chapter Eight: Intentions

During dinner, Sydney made a show of proving to her mother that their conversation hadn't bothered her, flirting with Sark, touching him whenever possible. She could feel Jack's eyes on her the entire time, and when she dared spare a glance at him, she found that he looked nearly ready to vomit.

__

Oh, Jack, you don't understand, she thought despairingly. He didn't understand that in order for her to survive without his father, she needed to attach herself to a man who was his opposite in every way. To live a life that was as different as possible as the life she'd lived with him.

That night, she invited Sark into her bed. Sex with him was unlike sex with Michael had been. All the passion and intensity, none of the love. While she was relieved that Sark had never claimed to care about her-- she certainly didn't care about him-- it made her feel a little empty. Whit every man she'd gone to bed with in the past, there had always been at least the illusion of love. 

And much as she tried to pretend that the conversation with her mother hadn't bothered her, the truth was, it had. The idea that the man she'd been sleeping with for the past six months might have had something to do with the death of her beloved plagued her to no end. She had to find out the truth, she just had to.

"So," Sark said as they lay in bed that night. "What did your mother want to talk to you about this evening?"

This was it. The chance to test him a little. "Oh," Sydney said, hoping she sounded nonchalant. "It seems she isn't terribly happy with the direction the Organization has taken since Michael's death."

She felt Sark tense up beside her. "What is she displeased about, exactly?"

"Oh, you know how Michael was," Sydney said, letting her fingers dance across Sark's chest. "The type of man everyone fell in love with at first sight, everybody's best friend. He made so few enemies during his time at the Organization."

"And I've been amassing nemeses left and right, is that it?" Sark demanded.

"Oh, I didn't say that," Sydney said, feigning innocence. "It wasn't a comparison." _Because you could never in a million years hope to compare to him_, she added silently. "I wouldn't have even said anything, but it's just that what she said got me thinking, you know?"

"Thinking about what, darling?" Sark asked, planting a kiss on top of her head.

This was it. His reaction to what she would say in the next few minutes could potentially really tell her something. "About Michael's death."

Again, Sark tensed beside her. "What about it, Sydney?"

"The CIA agent who killed him," Sydney said. "I just don't see why he would have fired."

"You and Michael were considered enemies of the United States, Sydney," Sark pointed out.

"But we weren't armed." Sydney was bringing this up for a purpose now; it was something she'd forced herself not to think about for the past year. "And the CIA wanted to bring down our organization, Sark. All they accomplished by killing Michael was losing the knowledge he had. That, and cementing my loyalty to the Organization."

"What are you suggesting, Sydney?" Sark demanded.

Sydney sat up, interested less now in his demeanor than in the idea brewing in her head. "I'm saying that somebody had a reason to want Michael dead. Maybe the man who killed him, maybe someone else, but someone." There was no doubt in her mind about that now.

"Who?" Sark asked.

__

Well, you've certainly benefited from his death, haven't you, Sark? "I don't know," she said aloud, looking him dead in the eye. "But I intend to find out."


	9. Putting Questions to Bed

****

Chapter Nine: Putting Questions to Bed

Sydney threw open the door to her mother's office the next morning without knocking, making her demand before she so much as said hello. "I need to know what happened to my father."

Irina arched one eyebrow, regarding her daughter with a mixture of interest and irritation. "Good morning to you, too, dear."

"I'm serious," Sydney insisted, determined not to be intimidated by her mother's cool, condescending attitude. "You said he'd been taken care of-- what does that mean? Did you have him killed?"

Irina cocked her head to one side, frowning. "Why do you want to know, Sydney?"

Impatience bubbled up in Sydney's stomach, but she was determined to keep it under control. "Because I don't believe Michael's death was an accident," she said, her voice low. "And if anyone would know anything about the agent that killed him, Dad would."

"He's not the only one who would know," Irina said, leaning back in her black leather chair. "The other agents that were there that day might. So might others at the CIA."

"I believe I have the best chance of getting my father to talk," Sydney said.

Irina smiled. "You know as well as I do that we have ways of making _any_ of the agents there that day talk."

Sydney felt a chill run down her spine. Yes, she did know. She'd played a part in getting many to talk over the years, and though she couldn't say she was proud of such accomplishments, she had enjoyed the control, the power involved in such activities. "I just need to know," she whispered. "Whether my father is alive or dead."

Irina regarded her for a long moment before speaking. "He's alive."

Sydney felt a momentary surge of relief. "Where is he?"

Irina paused for another long moment. _Deciding how much I deserve to know_, Sydney thought bitterly. Though supposedly she and Sark were in charge of the Organization now, everyone knew who was really pulling the strings. _No escape, never an escape..._ "He's a prisoner, Sydney." Irina smiled a cold, thin-lipped smile. "Our prisoner."

Another chill ran through Sydney. "You've seen him?"

Irina continued to smile the smile that had had many, over the years, shaking in their shoes. Including Sydney. As tough as she'd tried to act, the truth was, she'd never for a minute stopped being terrified of her mother. "Yes, I've seen him," Irina said, her voice low. "Daily."

Sydney shuddered to think of the torture her father had undoubtedly endured at the hands of her mother. _Who are you to judge_? a tiny voice inside her head whispered. _Haven't you tortured dozens of others? What does it matter if this particular prisoner is your father?_

But it did matter, and Sydney knew it.

"I want to see him," Sydney told her mother.

Irina regarded her for another endless moment. "Sydney, I don't know for a fact that Sark had something to do with Michael's death."

"But he could have," Sydney challenged.

Irina paused, then nodded her assent. "He could have."

"And he certainly had a lot to gain by eliminating Michael."

"Yes." Something very close to pain crossed Irina's face. "But Sydney, what if he did order Michael's death, or even somehow manage to be the one to pull the trigger himself? Could you live with that?"

Sydney looked away, biting her lower lip. Could she? "I don't love Sark," she whispered. "So I wouldn't be hurt if I learned something that would make it impossible for me to continue my personal relationship with him, no."

"It wouldn't hurt you to lose him, no," Irina agreed. "But how would you feel about yourself if you learned you'd been fucking your husband's killer?"

Sydney should have been shocked by the comment, offended. She wasn't. She'd wondered the same thing. Could she live with herself if she learned she'd been sharing a bed with the man who had ended Michael's life?

"I-- I never would have slept with him if I'd have known, or even suspected, Mother," Sydney said, tears springing to her eyes.

"Yes, I know."

"And I needed someone. Him." The tears started flowing down Sydney's cheeks. She didn't make a move to stop them. "I don't know if I could have made it through the last few months without him."

"I know."

Sydney waited for the tears to subside before she spoke again. "I don't know, Mom," she finally said. "I don't know if learning that he killed Michael would make that any less true. I don't know if I could feel guilty for needing him."

Her mother was around the desk by the time the next stream of sobs hit, holding her, cradling her. And then she whispered the words Sydney had needed to hear:

"You can see your father." 


	10. How They Appear

****

Chapter Ten: How They Appear

Sydney took a deep breath before turning down the hallway where she knew her father was being kept, terrified of what she was about to do. Back in her days at the CIA, if she were going to question a prisoner of the United States government, she knew that she would stand on one side of clear glass or bars in some state of the art facility. She would never lay a hand on the prisoner. Here, at her mother's Organization, things were different. She was entering something that resembled a dungeon. She would enter the prisoner's cell, and she would carry a gun. And there would be no consequences if she decided to use it.

__

You can do this, she coached herself. _You've done it before, with other prisoners._

Not with your own father, a tiny voice taunted her.

She told the little voice to shut up and continued down the hall to the cell.

What she found when she reached it, though, almost took her breath away. She had visited a prisoner during her CIA days once; the woman had been so well-kept Sydney had almost wondered if the CIA was allowing her a personal makeup artist and hairstylist. She wondered no such thing about Jack Bristow. Her father's hair had grown longer, and he had grown a beard; both were so greasy Sydney wondered if he had been allowed to wash himself in the past year. He was so gaunt she almost wondered if he had even been allowed to eat in the last year, though of course she knew that he had. Her mother had personally delivered each meal. Watched as he'd swallowed every bite. The thought made Sydney's skin crawl, though she knew it shouldn't.

__

You're going to have to be just as hard, she told herself. _Just as cold if you want to get what you want from this man. Just forget that he's your father. Remember that he played a part in Michael's death, that it was a man from the CIA that killed him._

Unless it wasn't.

"Hello, Jack," she said, in what she hoped was a reasonable facsimile of her mother's cool tone. She would not call him _Dad_. She would not let her emotions show.

When he looked up at her, though, it was with such hatred and disgust that Sydney had a hard time not vomiting.

"Mrs. Vaughn," he responded as she entered the cell. "Or all you calling yourself Mrs. Sark, now?"

"I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from speaking unless I ask you a question," Sydney said coolly, though the question rattled her. Undoubtedly her mother had been sharing details of her personal life with him. Torturing him with news of the woman she'd become. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way," she continued, pulling her gun from her holster casually, as if she used it every day. _You've used it more than you'd like to admit, you cold, unfeeling bitch,_ a voice whispered in Sydney's ear.Sydney pushed the voice away. "As you know, I take my orders from Irina Derevko, and I think you and I both know how expendable your life is to her. Though I'm sure she'd miss the daily opportunities to torture you," she said, twisting her mouth into a wicked smile. "She'd get over it quickly, let me assure you. You're a prisoner of the Organization, not the United States government. You have no personal freedoms."

"Thank you for clearing that up."

Before she had time to second-guess what she was doing, she struck him with the butt of her gun. "You will _not_ speak unless asked a question. Is that clear?"

Her father looked up at her, the hatred in his eyes even more obvious. "Crystal."

"Good," Sydney said with a satisfied nod. On the outside, she was the picture of cool confidence. On the inside, she was shaking. "I want you to tell me about the agent who killed Michael Vaughn."

For a moment, something odd flashed in Jack Bristow's eyes, something very close to pride. As if after a year, she was finally asking the right questions, and it pleased him. Then the look was gone, and his dark eyes were all steely contempt. "Though I certainly fear the consequences of asking this question--" The look Jack gave her gun was one that showed he was about as frightened of it, of her, as he would be of a child waving around a water pistol. "Why are you asking about him?"

Sydney lowered her eyes, just for a split second. Even if she wasn't fooling her father for one minute with her tough act, she could at least make an effort to keep up the pretense. "I have reason to believe that the person who killed him did so for a less than obvious reason, that he had a personal agenda against my husband."

Something like mirth shone in Jack Bristow's eyes. He didn't even attempt to hide the emotion. "Let me guess. You believe that the person who shot Michael stood to benefit personally from his death, that the person may even be someone close to you."

Sydney looked away, then quickly looked him in the eyes again. "I like to know who my enemies are," she said, struggling to keep her voice even.

"And whether you're sharing a bed with one of them, is that it?"

Sydney had the sudden urge to strike him again. She kept it in check. "Yes."

Jack nodded, looking somewhat pleased that she'd been willing to admit such a thing without defensiveness or anger. "Well, you're right to ask questions, Sydney." Not Mrs. Vaughn. Sydney. "The person who shot Michael did have an agenda in doing so, but it wasn't a personal agenda. That agent was, in fact, carrying out the agenda of the United States government."

Sydney took a step back. Her head was spinning, spinning... "You keep saying shot, and not killed," she gasped. "Why?"

"How very observant of you to notice," Jack said drily.

Another step back. The tears welled up in Sydney's eyes before she could stop them, and her gun clattered to the floor without her even noticing. "But I-- I don't understand," she managed. "Michael died in my arms."

Jack offered her a wry smile. "Things aren't always how they appear, Sydney."

"What are you saying?" Sydney knew good and well what he was saying, but she needed to hear the words come out of his mouth.

"Michael's alive."


	11. Heed the Words of Jack Bristow

****

Chapter Eleven: Heed the Words of Jack Bristow

"You're lying," Sydney gasped, staring at her father as she collected her gun from where it had landed on the floor.

Jack smirked in response. "Part of you hopes that I am," he observed. "You've already said goodbye to Michael, made your peace with him being gone. Besides, if he's alive, that means you'll have to answer for your actions of the past year."

Hot tears spilled down Sydney's cheeks. What would Michael think, knowing she'd been sharing a bed with Sark while he had been-- well, she wasn't sure _where_ he'd been for the last year, but undoubtedly he'd been suffering. Unable to contact her. Would he feel enraged, betrayed? Would he refuse to ever see her again? Or would he eventually be able to understand and accept the events that had happened in his absence?

Either way, Sydney knew that knowing what she'd done would hurt Michael, and the thought was almost too much for her to bear.

"Another part of you wants me to be telling the truth," Jack continued. "Because you love him so much, you would give anything for him to be alive, and whether he's able to get past what you've done or not, at least you'll have the chance to find out."

Sydney wondered if _she_ would be able to live, if Michael was alive and didn't want her anymore. He'd already been taken from her once. She didn't know if she could stand losing him again.

"But either way," Jack said. "The curiosity is killing you now, and you need to know what I know."

He was right, of course. "What do you know?" Sydney whispered.

Jack smiled a grim half-smile. "I know that Michael's being shot was all part of the plan, if the two of you refused to take my deal. I know that he wasn't hit by the kind of bullet that kills, but by the kind of bullet that makes one appear dead for a matter of hours."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Sydney said, her voice soft. She needed to sit down, but the only place was on her father's cot, next to him. That was out of the question.

"Most people haven't, and if they have, they don't believe it's real," Jack said matter-of-factly. "It's like truth serum. It sounds too ridiculous to be anything but something made up for the movies."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sydney asked tearfully, though of course she knew the answer to the question. He hadn't told her because he believed that she was a dangerous criminal. _Face it, Syd_, the voice in her head told her. _You **are **a dangerous criminal._

"You would have been told, if your mother hadn't busted you out of captivity so quickly," Jack informed her. "That was the plan. Michael was told that if he told what he knew about the Organization, you would be told that he was alive. Of course, we were planning all along to tell you that he was alive, but that if you didn't tell us what you knew about the Organization, we would kill him. Painfully, quietly."

"I didn't know the US government resorted to such tactics," Sydney said bitterly.

"They do when criminals the caliber of yourself and Michael are involved," Jack told her. "They do when an organization is as much of a threat to national security as Derevko's is. Oh, excuse me," he said, bitterness coloring his own words. "As _yours_ is. I understand Irina has given control to you and your Mr. Sark, though she's far from out of the picture."

"Where is Michael now?" Sydney asked quietly.

"Well, since your mother took me as a prisoner only days after she busted you out, I can't be sure now, can I?" Jack challenged. "At the time I left, he had been told about your escape, and they had offered him a deal in exchange for his own freedom."

"Not mine," Sydney realized. 

Jack stared at her, utter hatred in his eyes. "Sydney, I can assure you that if the CIA ever gets their hands on you, you will never again see the light of day."

A chill ran through Sydney's body. "Michael would never take a deal like that," she said. "He would never give them information that would allow them to lock me up." _Or worse_, she thought with a shudder.

"Maybe not," Jack agreed. "But I can assure you that the CIA will try every tactic to get him to do exactly that. It will get ugly, Sydney. They will try to convince him that a free life with him is better for the children than life with you, where they're being raised as minions of the Organization. And don't think they haven't been keeping an eye on you." Sydney gasped in horror at the idea that Michael might already know what she'd been doing with Sark, that someone else had explained it to him in a far less sensitive way than she surely would have chosen. "I'd keep your eyes open, Sydney. They will break him. And you will spend the rest of your life in prison."

Already the wheels were spinning in Sydney's head as she tried to think of a way out, a way to make his words untrue. "I'm assuming that my mother doesn't know he's alive."

Jack smirked. "Since Michael isn't back here with you, then I would assume that she doesn't, though I can't say that I'm displeased that you asked the question. Never trust that woman completely, Sydney."

"Dad, please," Sydney said wearily. "She could very well have locked me up in a cell just like this for what I tried to do to her."

"The fact that she didn't doesn't make her any more trustworthy," Jack said sharply. "I'm serious, Sydney. Be careful."

"Fine." Sydney bit her lower lip, pacing about the small cell. "What if we offered the CIA a deal?" she wondered aloud. "Your freedom for Michael's."

Jack smirked. "Sydney, I'm sorry, but my freedom does not mean nearly as much to them as keeping one of the Organization's leaders behind bars does. The only person they would accept in exchange for Michael is you, or possibly Irina."

Sydney turned a steely glare on him as an idea occurred to her. A joyous, wonderful idea. "Why am I even talking to you?" she asked, doing her best to keep the glee out of her voice. "Mother busted me out of federal custody, surely she'll be able to do the same for Michael once she knows he's alive." She felt a sudden surge of relief rush through her. She had her mother on her side. She would make no deal, spend no time behind bars in exchange for Michael's freedom. She would simply take it. And she turned, offering her father a mirthless smile. "You just made the mistake of a lifetime, Jack Bristow, telling me about Michael. We will find him, and when we do, I can assure you that your life will mean even less to Mother than it already does."

Jack merely stared at her. "I've made a million mistakes of a lifetime, Sydney, and most of them have involved your mother. I mean it, Sydney. Don't put too much of your trust in her."

Sydney smiled. "I will trust," she said, making her way out of the cell. "Whoever can best help me achieve my goals. And I can assure you that that person isn't you." 


	12. Secrets

****

Chapter Twelve: Secrets

"I don't trust you."

Irina raised one eyebrow in a question mark. Sydney supposed she must have been wondering what had triggered such an outburst; after all, Sydney hadn't so much as offered a hello after bursting into the office. But she needed, desperately, to tell her mother what she had learned during her meeting with her father, and she thought she might as well clear the air first.

"I mean, I do to an extent, but not completely, which I think is wise, considering that I'm quite sure you don't trust me completely, either," Sydney continued.

"Sydney, what happened?" Irina asked, her voice laced with controlled impatience.

"I'll tell you, I just need to say this first," Sydney said, taking a deep breath. "When Michael and I came to work for you, we intended to bring down your organization. Did you know that?"

"I had suspicions, yes," Irina said calmly.

"But we weren't successful," Sydney continued. "And we certainly weren't successful when we tried to escape. I mention this only because I need your help, you're the only person I believe can help me, and I plan to trust you, because I need to. I hope you can trust me, too."

Irina offered her a soft smile. "Of course, darling. Now, why don't you tell me what this is about?"

Sydney took another deep breath, willing the tears not to come as she spoke the words. "Michael's alive, Mom."

Irina's eyebrows shot practically to the ceiling. "What makes you think that?"

Shaking, Sydney moved to sit across from her mother, hoping she could tell this without breaking down completely. "My father told me, Mom." And she proceeded to tell her what Jack had told her about the CIA's plan and Michael's captivity.

Her mother was quiet for a full minute after Sydney finished her story, biting her lower lip as if searching for the right words. "Sydney--" she began, then stopped, shaking her head.

"What?" Sydney prodded.

Again, it seemed as if Irina had trouble getting the words out. "Sydney, sweetheart, I know how hard losing Michael has been on you, I know how much you must want him to be alive, but--" she paused, then said the next words delicately, as if she were afraid of Sydney's reaction. "Sydney, you have to account for the possibility that your father is lying."

Sydney gasped. It was something she hadn't really considered. Well, maybe she had for a minute... "Why would he do that?"

"Your father knows how much you care for Michael, sweetie," Irina said gently. "That if he is alive, you would do anything in your power to get him back. Perhaps your father is hoping that you'll simply walk right into CIA headquarters and offer them information. Then what, Sydney? You'll be behind bars, the Organization will be disbanded, and if Michael really is dead, then it will all have been for nothing."

Tears sprung to Sydney's eyes, her heart sinking as she realized what a real possibility that was. She'd had such hope that Michael was alive, and now...she didn't know what to believe. "I wasn't planning to do that, though," she whispered. "That's why I came to you. You were able to get me out of custody, I was hoping you could do the same for him."

Irina studied her with a frown. "Well, of course I could, and I would, if he was really imprisoned." She was silent for a moment, the look on her face one of utter concentration. "I'll tell you what, Sydney. I'll do everything I can to find out if your father is telling the truth, and if he is, where Michael is being held. You and I can work together on it, okay?"

Sydney felt a flood of relief, of hope. She'd known she'd been right to trust her mother. Of course she was going to help her. "Thank you, Mother. So much."

A small, sad frown crossed Irina's pretty face. "My only concern, Sydney, is that you'll get your hopes up too much here. I want you to accept the possibility that Michael is really dead."

"I know," Sydney said quickly, though her heart hurt just thinking about such a thing.

"And if he is alive," Irina said, in a voice that struggled to be gentle. "Sydney, you do realize that some of your actions of the past year, well--"

"They would be hard to forgive," Sydney said in a rush. "I know. He still doesn't deserve to spend the rest of his life behind bars, Mom."

"Of course he doesn't." Irina rose from her seat. The meeting was over. "Michael was-- is, perhaps-- a good man, Sydney. No matter what happens, you were lucky to have him for the time that you did."

The tears sprung to Sydney's eyes all over again as she rose from her chair. "I know, Mother."

Irina crossed to Sydney's side of the desk, offering her daughter a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Let's see if we can't bring him back to you, hmm?"

And the dam that had been building up inside of Sydney burst, and she found herself crying, sobbing, for the man she thought she had lost. Her mother's arms went around her, and Sydney cried on her shoulder as Irina offered words of comfort. "Shh, baby, shh," she soothed, as if speaking to a child. "Everything's going to be okay. Mommy's going to make everything okay."

Finally Sydney's sobs quieted, and she pulled away from her mother, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Thank you, Mom," she said, her voice shaky. "For everything."

"Of course, sweetheart," Irina said, offering her daughter a loving smile. "Now, darling, I'm sorry to say that I have a plane to catch, but I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

"Where are you going?" 

Another smile from Irina. "Just a bit of business I have to take care of, honey. I'd invite you to come with me, but--"

"No," Sydney said, shaking her head. "I want to get home to the children." Oh, God, the children. How would it be for them, having their father back after a year's time, after watching their mother--

"All right, sweetheart," Irina interrupted her thoughts, placing a tender hand on her cheek. "Take care of yourself. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Thank you," Sydney said, collapsing back down into the chair. "Goodbye, Mother."

"Goodbye, Sydney."

Irina Derevko did as she said she would-- she got on a plane. Sydney would have been quite surprised to know where she traveled to, though, for she didn't even know such a destination existed. Neither did Sark, or anyone else who Irina didn't wish to. Sydney and Sark also didn't know that their little organization had expanded over the past year, that it had an entirely different division with an entirely different leader. This leader knew of the existence of the other branch of the Organization, though he was unaware of who its young female leader was. As far as he was concerned, that woman had died a year ago.

When she reached her destination, a car drove Irina up to a now familiar apartment building. The doorman greeted her with a smile. She returned his smile, stepping past him into the elevator.

"Penthouse?" the elevator operator inquired.

"Yes," Irina responded. "Thank you."

The elevator ride seemed to take forever. Maybe it was because Irina was so anxious to get where she was going. She hadn't dropped in on this division of her organization in weeks, after all, nor had she been to visit its handsome leader.

The elevator stopped, and she stepped out, walking toward the door of the man she wished to visit. She rang the doorbell, and he answered promptly, as he always did, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile at the sight of her.

"Hello, Irina," he greeted, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "What a nice surprise."

She returned his smile. It really had been too long. 

"Michael. It's good to see you."


	13. Irina Derevko, Puppet Master

****

Chapter Thirteen: Irina Derevko, Puppet Master

Irina hadn't known that Michael was alive when she'd busted Sydney out of custody. Her concern for her daughter and the grief for the man her daughter had loved had been very real.

When she'd learned that the man was alive, however, she'd seen it as an exquisite opportunity.

Michael's escape and her plan thereafter had been carefully crafted. She could easily have returned him to her grieving daughter-- he had only been gone four months, at that point-- but the truth was, she quite approved of the way Sydney was behaving in his absence. Losing the person she loved most had made Sydney rather cold, desperate. Finally, after an entire decade, she was putting the Organization first. Irina was quite interested to see how Michael would behave under the same circumstances.

So Michael was told that his beloved was dead. And together, Michael, Irina, and a few select employees had gone about setting up new Organization headquarters in a new location.

"I have Sark and most of the others still working at our original headquarters," she'd told Michael, brow knitted in concern. "We'll start moving our operations base to the new location, little by little, and when we're sure it's safe, that the CIA knows nothing of our whereabouts, we'll run our operation strictly from here."

Michael had agreed. He had been so grateful to her for busting him out of prison that he would have agreed to just about anything.

Of course, there was the matter of the children. Michael had been desperate to know of their location, their safety. Irina had assured him that they were being taken care of.

"Michael," she'd told him, careful to go for the right tone. "Most of my employees know nothing of our new location. They don't even know that you're still alive. For security reasons, for now, it's really best if it stays that way."

"But my children?" he'd asked, tears coming to those gorgeous green eyes of his. "They can't even know that their father is still alive?"

"I'm sorry, Michael," she'd soothed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's best this way. You wouldn't want to do anything to risk their safety, would you? Or your own?"

And Michael's face had taken on an expression of quiet acceptance and understanding. "Of course I wouldn't, Irina," he had said, the hurt in his eyes almost a tangible thing. Irina's heart had ached for him, though not enough to make her want to ease his suffering. "Just promise me you'll take good care of them."

"Of course I will, darling."

And of course, just as she had given Sydney Sark, she had given Michael a little help in running his half of the Organization, as well. It wouldn't have been fair to let Sydney have all the fun. Besides, Sydney was constantly complaining about Brooke Banning, wanting to relegate her to some lesser duty. So Irina had told Sydney that she had found a long-term job for Brooke, and she had sent her to Michael. Irina wasn't sure if the two of them were sharing a bed yet-- after all, Sydney had been dead to Michael for only eight months, and knowing him, he probably would see sleeping with someone his late wife had hated as disrespectful of her memory. But the man wasn't a saint. He wouldn't hold out forever. And if it looked like he might, Irina had a little lie and a couple of pieces of truth she could tell him to speed things along.

It wasn't that she cared so much about the man's sex life. But as with everything else, his union with Banning was part of some larger orchestration.

She had never much cared whether Sydney and Michael were in love, though she had grown quite fond of Michael over time. But it had been important to her that their first loyalty, their first allegiance, lie with her. Now, after more than ten long years, she finally had the opportunity to make that happen.

She would be damned if she let it go to waste. 


	14. Addicted to Another

****

Chapter Fourteen: Addicted to Another

"Please, come in," Michael said, ushering Irina inside. "I'm so glad you came. I'm surprised you waited so long between visits."

"Well, Michael, you know how risky I find travel between this place and headquarters," Irina said regretfully, settling herself onto the living room couch. The room wasn't quite as cold and imposing as Sydney's new home, she noted, but it wasn't bad. "Though I do wish I could keep a closer eye on operations here."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Michael assured her, moving to sit in the armchair adjacent to her. "I've been working really hard, trying to make this base fully operational. It'll be wonderful when you can move headquarters here, I can't wait to see the kids again."

"They're wonderful, Michael," Irina told him warmly. _Sure. Jack's flunking out of school, and Emily's thisclose to calling Sark "Daddy." _ Irina smiled wickedly at the thought. She did, of course, plan to tell Michael that Sydney was still alive, and vice versa. Just not before she could be sure the two of them wouldn't immediately reconcile. Bless Sydney and the glorious way she had managed to fuck up the children in his absence; that alone would probably be enough to prevent an immediate reunion. Of course, there were other ways to prevent such a reunion. For instance-- "How's Brooke doing?"

To her delight, Michael actually blushed. "She's doing fine. I was actually surprised to see you at the door, I'm expecting her any minute."

Irina glanced at her watch. "Dinner plans, I take it?"

"Yes," Michael said, looking a little embarrassed. "I hope you'll join us, Irina."

"Oh, I'd love to," Irina purred. 

"Good," Michael said with a smile, rising from his chair. "What can I get you to drink while we wait?"

"Scotch, please, Michael," Irina returned his smile.

"So, it's been so long," Michael said, going about the business of pouring a drink for her, and one for himself. "Tell me about the kids, you must have so many stories. God, I miss them, Irina."

"I'm sure you do, darling," Irina said, offering him a sympathetic smile. "That's why I hesitate to tell you too much. I'm afraid doing so will only make it harder for you to be apart from them."

"Oh, I--" Michael began, but was cut off by the sound of the ringing doorbell.

"That'll be Brooke, I assume," Irina said, rising from her chair. "Why don't you let me let her in, darling, while you pour her a drink?" she suggested, collecting her own drink from him on her way by.

"Hello, Brooke," she greeted the girl, leading her into the entryway. As always, she looked stunning-- straight blonde hair curled prettily around her face, long black dress cut just a little too low in the chest and high in the leg. Brooke Banning's sexuality was by far her greatest asset, and she used it to full advantage.

"Irina." Brooke looked at once pleased to see her and suspicious. No doubt worrying about Irina's next move, waiting for the other shoe to drop. All of Irina's employees were at least a little frightened of her, and she couldn't say that the fact displeased her. "What a pleasant surprise. I assume you'll be joining Michael and me for dinner?"

"You assume correctly," Irina said, stopping the girl before she could move into the living room. "How are things going between the two of you?" she asked, voice low enough that Michael wouldn't be able to hear it in the next room.

"They're going well, I think," Brooke said with a shrug. "Slow," she added, rolling her eyes heavenward.

"That's okay, don't you dare push him too far, too fast," Irina instructed, eyes flashing. "I'll do my best to give him the extra push he needs, but you are to play it cool, do you understand?"

"I understand." For a moment, impatience flashed in Brooke's eyes, but the look quickly changed to one of wicked amusement. "You totally have him eating out of your hand now, you know that, don't you?"

"I thought I might," Irina smirked. "Come, now, darling. Say hello to Michael, then excuse yourself as quickly as you can. I have a bit of magic to work."

And, giggling like a couple of conspiring schoolgirls, they entered the living room.

"Hello, Michael." Irina approved of the way Brooked touched his shoulder lightly, leaned in to kiss his cheek. Flirtatious, without being pushy. Good.

She was less approving of the way Michael seemed to flinch away, just barely, at her touch. "Hello, Brooke," he said, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Michael, you're sweet," she purred, letting her hand linger on his shoulder for just a moment before removing it. "I'm sorry I'm late."

"It's no problem," Michael assured her. "Irina and I were just about to have a drink."

"Wonderful," Brooke said, flashing a smile that showed a row of perfect white teeth. "Do you mind if I freshen up?" she asked, cocking her head toward the hall that led to the bathroom.

"Of course not," Michael said. She offered him a tantalizing smile before starting down the hall.

Irina was at his side, a hand on his shoulder, before Michael had even turned from watching her go. "Michael, sweetheart," she said, her voice soft, concerned. "Why do you flinch away from her touch?"

Adorably, Michael flinched in response to the question. "Brooke has been very sweet, and helpful, and I enjoy spending time with her." He looked away, but not before Irina saw the pain in his green eyes. "But it just seems so soon."

__

Eight months. Your wife only waited six, Irina thought. But she wouldn't reveal that just yet. She could let Michael play the grieving widower for a bit longer. "I know how much you loved Sydney, Michael," she said, eyes shining with sympathy. "But no one would blame you for moving on, even if it was just for comfort, or to take your mind off of other things."

Michael winced. "I couldn't use Brooke like that."

"I'm sure she understands, darling." _Actually, I know she does._ "She's sophisticated enough to realize that every relationship doesn't have to be--"

"Thank you, Irina," Michael interjected, his voice a bit sharp.

Irina managed to look just the tiniest bit wounded. "I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds, Michael," she said, her voice soft. "I just hate to see you so unhappy."

"I'm unhappy because I lost my wife and haven't seen my children in a year," Michael said, the pain more visible than ever in his green eyes. "Brooke isn't going to change any of that."

"No," Irina allowed. "But she might help dull some of the pain." She heard Brooke's high heels clicking on the tiled hallway floor, and she gave Michael's shoulder one last squeeze before returning to the couch. "Just think about it."

"I will."

But the look on his face told Irina that it might take more than a pretty blonde and a few kind words to get him as addicted to another as Sydney had been to Sark.

Soon, she might have to try another tactic.


	15. Revelations

****

Chapter Fifteen: Revelations

Irina took a deep breath as she approached Michael's apartment the next morning, wishing to God that it hadn't come to this. She hadn't wanted to play this particular card just yet. Unfortunately, she didn't see any other choice.

She rang his doorbell, and he greeted her with much of the same enthusiasm he had the day before. "Irina, hello." He was still dressed in the same navy bathrobe he'd worn in his days with Sydney. "I didn't expect you so early."

"I hope I didn't wake you," she said apologetically.

"No, I was just putting on some coffee. Please, come in," he said, stepping aside so she could enter.

"You don't have company, do you?" she asked, feigning an innocent tone.

Michael shook his head as he led her into the kitchen. "Irina, I appreciate that I have your blessing if I want to move on, but really, I'm just not ready."

"I understand, Michael," she said, seating herself in one of his kitchen chairs. 

"Can I get you some coffee?" he asked, moving to pour himself a cup.

"No, thank you. Actually, Michael, I came here to tell you something, and you're going to be so incredibly angry at me--" she broke off, shaking her head. "I only ask that you keep an open mind."

"What's this about, Irina?" he asked, brow knitted in concern as he joined her at the kitchen table.

She didn't know any way to say it other than to just come out and say it. God, she wished it hadn't come to this. "Sydney's alive, Michael."

She had expected him to stand, thrash violently about the room, break things. Anything but just look at her with that blank, uncomprehending stare. "No, she's not."

Oh, God. How to deal with this? "Yes, Michael, she--"

"No," Michael said sharply. Now he rose from his chair and began to pace. "I've spent the last eight months getting over her, Irina, she is _not_--"

"But you haven't gotten over her, have you, Michael?" Irina interjected. "You cringe when another woman so much puts a hand on your shoulder."

"If she's alive, why wouldn't you have told me?" Michael challenged, fire in his green eyes. "Why would you allow for the possibility that I might-- oh, God, Irina. What if I _had_ been sleeping with Brooke?"

"You have to understand, Michael," Irina said, her voice low. "I had to let you believe she was dead. It would be so dangerous for you to return to Organization headquarters, or for her to visit you here-- do you think I believe for a moment that you wouldn't have found a way to contact her, had you known?"

"I wouldn't have done anything to risk her safety, Irina!" Michael exploded.

Irina took a deep breath. "Perhaps not, Michael," she said softly. "But the truth is, it may be years before it's possible for the two of you to see each other. I thought it would be easier for everyone involved, and better for the Organization, for the two of you to mourn each other and move on."

"So she believes I'm dead, too," Michael said. He was pacing now, hands jammed into the pockets of his robe.

"Michael, she--" 

Michael interrupted her, and Irina was grateful. She hadn't been precisely sure how she would answer that question. "So, it's still not safe for us to be together," he interjected, his voice cold. "Why did you decide to tell me now?"

Irina sighed. This was it. The part she had to play absolutely perfectly. "Because I thought if thinking that she was dead wasn't enough to make you move on, then maybe knowing what she's done in the last year, in your absence, might be."

"What are you talking about?" She didn't have to be a mind reader to know what was going on in his head at that moment. Confusion, fear...

And she looked him in the eye, and let her own eyes show the perfect combination of regret and dread. "Michael, you're not going to like this." 


	16. Irina's Daughter

****

Chapter Sixteen: Irina's Daughter

Sydney stayed at the office late the night her mother left on her trip, needing some time alone to decide how she was going to deal with things. One thing was for sure, though-- she couldn't continue to see Sark romantically. It was bound to hurt their partnership, but then again, maybe not. Of course Sark had been ecstatic to take Michael's place at the Organization; taking his place in the bedroom had just been an added perk. Or at least, Sydney was hoping that was the way he saw things.

With that in mind, she was quite surprised to enter her apartment that evening to find Sark on the couch with her daughter, reading to her from a children's book.

"Who the hell let you in?" Sydney demanded, then cursed herself for not doing a better job of keeping her emotions in check.

Sark merely raised an eyebrow at her protest. "You're in a fine mood this evening, aren't you, darling? Emily let me in, didn't you, sweetheart?"

"Yep." Sydney's stomach lurched as Emily smiled up at him. Oh, God. Perhaps Michael would be able to forgive her for inviting Sark into her bed, but for letting him be such a part of her life, part of their children's lives... "Sark's been reading to me, Mommy."

"That's-- that's wonderful, sweetheart," she managed. "Where's your brother?"

"I'm here." Jack appeared in the entryway of the room, arms folded in front of him. His insolent expression changed when he saw the look on her face. "Is something wrong, Mom?"

Sydney's heart nearly broke at his concern. He was so like his father-- even when he was mad at her, he couldn't stand to see her upset. "I've had a rough day, sweetie," she said, feeling the lump rising in her throat. She walked over to the boy, smoothing his dark hair back from his forehead. "Actually," she whispered, planting a kiss on his forehead. "It's been a rough year, hasn't it?"

His beautiful green eyes filled with tears as he looked up at her. "Yeah, Mom." She held him close to her as, to her surprise, he began to sob. He'd hardly broken down at all since his father's...death. Disappearance. What ever you wanted to call it. Or had she just somehow failed to notice? "I miss Dad, Mom. So much."

"Oh, sweetie," she said, rubbing his back as he cried. "I miss him, too."

His sobs finally quieted and he pulled away from her, glancing over at Sark as if embarrassed he'd broken down in front of him.

"Jack, sweetheart," she said, cupping his face in her hands. "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you this last year as much as I should have. But I promise that's going to change." _There might be a lot of changes around here_, she thought cryptically. _Your father coming back from the dead, for one._ "I love you, Jack," she said instead. "No matter what, okay?"

"Okay," he said, offering her a sad smile. His father's smile. "I love you, too, Mom."

"I know you do," she said, returning his smile. "Now, sweetheart. Have you eaten yet?"

"Mrs. Patterson left some sort of pasta simmering on the stove," Sark spoke up. "I was just about to--"

"Why don't you go wash up, Jack, and I'll go get everything ready?" Sydney interrupted.

"Okay," Jack said, smiling the first real smile she'd seen from him in the last year.

"Emily, angel, why don't you go with him?" Sydney said, directing a smile at her little girl.

"Okay, Mommy," she said, springing up from the couch without a second glance at Sark.

Sydney finally turned her attention to him, once the children were out of the room. "I think you should go, Sark."

"Sydney, what's the matter?" he asked, the concern in his eyes a bit disconcerting. "You don't--" he lowered his voice. "You don't think I had anything to do with Michael's--"

"No, Sark," she interrupted, a cool smile playing about her lips. "You're simply an opportunist. Not a murderer." _Or at least, not Michael's murderer._ "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to have dinner with my children."

He grabbed her arm suddenly, and she let out a little whimper of pain. "You don't want to fuck me anymore, that's fine," he hissed. "But don't even think you're going to push me out of my spot at the Organization again."

She broke free of his grasp. "I'd suggest you not touch me again, and I really hope you weren't threatening me," she said, eyes burning into his. "I wouldn't dream of taking your power away just because I no longer want you as a lover. But don't you dare cross me, or I might just change my mind."

"My God," he said, staring at her with something very close to contempt. "You really are Irina's daughter, aren't you?"

Sydney merely smiled. "You bet your ass I am. Now get out."


	17. Swimming

****

Chapter Seventeen: Swimming

They hadn't planned on going swimming that day. They'd slept in till nearly noon, hours later than they'd usually sleep at home, but what the hell, they were on their honeymoon. They'd woken up lazily and decided to go out to lunch, dressing casually in t-shirts and shorts and sandals. Not bathing suits. They hadn't planned on going swimming.

They'd taken the long way back to their villa after they ate, holding hands as they made their way down the beach. They'd walked just a little too close to the water's edge, and she'd let out a little scream of surprise when the waves had come up to lick her toes. He'd swept her into his arms the next time the ocean had crashed up to meet the shore, silencing her squeal of protest with a kiss so full of passion and intensity she'd gone weak in the knees.

They'd played in the surf for hours, not caring that the water was soaking their clothes clean through. They'd disposed of the wet garments soon enough, anyway, stripping quickly and silently as soon as they were back in the privacy of their villa. She'd lay back on the bed and reached up to stroke his face, so happy, so ready for him. When he'd entered her, she'd closed her eyes for one brief moment, and he'd gone nearly out of mind at the sight of the smile on her face. Satisfied. Blissful. The happiest she'd ever been.

They'd been so in love.

Or so he'd thought, before Irina had burst his little bubble that morning. How could someone so in love have moved on so quickly? "She was beside herself when you died, Michael." So beside herself that she'd comforted herself with Sark, of all people. Michael didn't think he could have felt worse if he'd learned his wife had been cavorting with Satan himself.

He took a pull from the bottle of Jack Daniels that rested on the coffee table before him, images of the two of them dancing around in his head whether his eyes were closed or open.

His darling Sydney, rolling about on a king-sized bed with Sark. Had she smiled at her new lover the way she'd once smiled at him? Like she'd never been so happy, so fulfilled? Had she dug her fingernails into his back until she'd nearly drawn blood, crying out his name in ecstasy? Had she collapsed against him afterward, dropping a kiss on his chest and telling him how amazing he'd been?

Had she told him she loved him?

__

Not had, a voice reminded him. _Does. Present tense. Does she dig her fingernails into his back…does she…oh, God._

He'd sensed that Irina had told him about Sydney and Sark to hurt him, to encourage him to move on. In the end, she'd ended up comforting him, the pain in his eyes apparently too much for even her to bear. _What's the matter, Irina_? He'd wanted to ask. _You've never seen a man who's just had his heart split open?_

"She was beside herself when you died, Michael. She just needed…"

__

She just needed. As if that were supposed to make everything okay. Damn her for needing someone to fill the place he'd left empty. Not that he would have expected her to mourn him forever. Not that he wouldn't have wanted her to move on. But had she needed to move on so quickly? Had she needed to move on with Sark?

__

Damn her, he thought, taking another pull from the bottle. Damn her for not being strong enough to make it alone. So many times he'd been the stronger one in their relationship, and where had it gotten him?

Alone with a bottle. Just like she'd found him so many years ago, days after he'd been dismissed from the CIA.

And damn if he didn't _need_, too. Damn if he wasn't strong enough to get past this alone. Damn if he wasn't a big enough man not to want to hurt her back for the way she'd hurt him.

He reached for the phone, his liquor-soaked brain somehow remembering how to dial the numbers of the one person who could help take the edge off of his pain.

"Brooke? It's Michael."


	18. Dirty Little Secrets

****

Chapter Eighteen: Dirty Little Secrets

Irina paused at the door to her daughter's apartment, smoothing the front of her suit jacket. _Mission accomplished_, she thought with a smile of satisfaction. That morning, she was sure that she had driven Michael Vaughn to his breaking point. And the things he would do while he was there would be enough to keep him and Sydney apart long after she learned the truth about his disappearance.

"Grammy!"

Irina smiled as the little girl flung open the door. She had always had a soft spot for Jack, her precious firstborn grandchild, but Emily was such a sweetheart. She looked so much like her mother, though Irina predicted she would grow to be even lovelier than Sydney. "Hello, darling," she cooed, crouching down to envelope the child in a hug. "You look like you're in a happy mood."

"Mommy stayed home all day, Grammy," the little girl said, her face flushed with excitement. "And she picked me up from school, and she took me to the park, and now she's making hamburgers for dinner."

"It sounds like you had a great day, sweetheart." Irina pasted a smile on her face, but she wondered why Sydney had decided to take the day off work. She wondered even more when she saw Jack, sitting on the couch with a Social Studies textbook open in front of him. "Jack, are you doing homework? Before dinner?"

"Oh. Yeah." The boy actually looked a little embarrassed. "Mom rented a movie, but she said I had to finish my homework before we could watch it, so--"

"Oh, Mom." Sydney appeared in the doorway of the room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her flushed, happy expression mirrored that of her daughter's. "You're back."

"Yes, dear," Irina responded, regarding her curiously. What had taken place here, in her absence?

"Well, great. I made an extra hamburger, if you want to eat with us."

"Sure," Irina said slowly, drawing the syllable out. "Maybe we could talk for a minute first."

"Oh. Of course," Sydney said with a shrug. "Jack, Emily, wash up, okay? Dinner's almost ready."

The children obediently scrambled out of the room, leaving Irina to gaze after them with wonder. "What--"

"Oh, Mom!" Sydney bubbled, surprising her by rushing into her arms for a hug. "Things are so amazing, I can hardly believe it!"

"What happened, Sydney?" Irina asked, bewildered.

"Nothing much." Sydney pulled away from her, her wide grin nearly splitting her face. "I just took control of my life back, that's all."

Irina opened her mouth to ask what she meant, but Sydney was already rushing forward.

"I ended things with Sark," she said, executing a little twirl.

Irina nodded. She hadn't imagined that she'd continue sleeping with him after learning that Michael might still be alive. "You didn't tell him--"

"I didn't tell him anything," Sydney assured her. "And that bastard actually tried to threaten me, do you believe it?" she questioned, a sour frown crossing her pretty face.

"Of course I believe it," Irina said with a slight smile. 

"Oh, and Mom, Jack and I finally talked, really talked for the first time in the last year." Sydney's smile returned to her face as quickly as it had left it. "I really think things are going to be okay with us. I've done a lot of things that will be pretty hard to forgive, but I really think it's possible."

Irina knew exactly what she was thinking: if it was possible for Jack to forgive her, it just might be possible for Michael to do the same. Irina smiled. The question was really whether Sydney would be able to forgive Michael for what he would inevitably do.

"I hope you don't mind I took the day off, Mom," Sydney continued. "I was actually thinking about taking the whole next week, if you don't mind. The kids will be in school, but it was really nice today, picking them up, being home early enough to fix dinner."

"Of course I don't mind, dear," Irina said, eyeing her quizzically. "But I'm surprised you would want to do that. I thought you'd want to put all your energy into finding Michael."

A troubled expression crossed Sydney's face. "Right after I went back to work at the Organization, after Michael-- after I believed he had died," she said, her voice soft. "Sark said something to me--" she bit her lower lip, shaking her head. "He said that I had always tried so hard to be good for Michael, and that doing so had always kept me from being the leader I could have been."

Irina studied her expression, wondering where she was going with this.

"The thing was, I did try hard to be good for Michael, but doing so didn't hold me back," Sydney continued. "It made me be my best, or at least, made me want to try to be my best. I lost that, in the last year," she said, face and voice full of regret. "But I'm ready to try again, Mom. I just want things to be wonderful around here, by the time he comes back." A soft smile parted her lips. "Maybe then he won't find the things I've done so hard to forgive."

"Maybe not," Irina agreed. She wasn't just humoring her-- Sydney was right, Michael probably would have had an easier time forgiving her indiscretions if he came back to find his wife and children the way he'd left them. In fact, he probably would have forgiven her, and forgiven her quickly. 

If Irina hadn't clued him in to Sydney's dirty little secrets a little earlier than planned.


	19. Help From an Unexpected Source

****

Chapter Nineteen: Help from an Unexpected Source

Brooke Banning took a deep breath as she rang Michael Vaughn's doorbell. "Showtime," she muttered to herself. She had to play this exactly right. Irina would kill her if she messed things up.

Michael threw open the door, and Brooke almost took a step back at the sight of him. Yikes. Irina had just told him about Sydney and Sark that morning, and already he looked like hell. Obviously, he had a few drinks in him.

When he saw her, though, his face broke into a smile, that gorgeous smile that Brooke had admired for years. A smile that, when accompanied by the right words and right tone of voice, could convince anyone to do anything, not that Brooke would know. This was the first time he'd ever directed the smile at her.

"Brooke," he said, in that perfect, gorgeous voice. And then, before he'd even invited her in, he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips as gentle and wonderful as she'd always imagined they'd be, though he tasted of whiskey and stale pizza.

He seemed almost apologetic when he pulled away from her. Well, she'd have to do her best to let him know that she didn't care, that he could take whatever he needed from her. Tonight, she was there for him, and only him. 

"Oh, Michael," she crooned as they made their way through the front door. She waited until they were seated on his couch before she took him in her arms, pulling her to him and letting her fingers stroke his light brown hair. "Irina told me what she told you. I can only imagine what you must be feeling."

"Did you know, Brooke?" The pleading look in his green eyes told her that he needed her to say _No, _even if it was a lie. Then, as if second-guessing himself, he hastily said, "No, no, don't answer that. If you did know, it doesn't matter. I'm sure you were just following orders."

"I'm so sorry, Michael," she said, her voice soft.

"No, no, don't apologize," he said quickly. "It's she who--" his voice broke, and Brooke feared he was going to cry. He was so strong, normally. She didn't know if she could handle seeing him cry. "I loved her for more than a decade, Brooke, and it only took her six months to-- to--"

"I'm sure she doesn't love him, Michael." Brooke didn't know if that was the right thing to say. She wanted to comfort him, but not render him ready to take Sydney back with open arms.

"I know she doesn't," Michael said quietly. "Actually, no, I don't. I don't know what I know anymore, Brooke. I don't know if she loves him, if she ever loved me, if--"

"I'm sure she loved you, Michael." How could she not? "She probably just…needed…"

"That's what Irina said," Michael said bitterly, taking a pull from the bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table. Brooke wondered if she should take the bottle away, put on some coffee or something. For now, she figured she'd just let him be. "And I know, she thinks I'm dead, she's _allowed _to be with whoever she wants, but--"

"That doesn't make the thought of the two of them together any less painful," Brooke cut in quietly. Actually, even she'd been surprised to learn that Sydney had taken up with Sark, and it wasn't like she gave a damn one way or the other about Derevko's bitch daughter. It seemed as if Sydney had gone from bedridden with grief for Michael to fucking Sark's brains out on a nightly basis in no time at all. Maybe that's what she'd needed. Maybe that was the only way she'd been able to get through the day.

Oh, who the hell was Brooke kidding? Sydney Vaughn was nothing more than a self-serving, self-righteous bitch, and Michael was better off without her.

At least now he was trying to get over her, or at least it seemed that way as he placed a hand on Brooke's thigh. "Thanks for coming over, Brooke," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just-- I couldn't be alone."

"You shouldn't be alone right now, Michael." Would he flinch away if she tried to kiss him?

She didn't have to worry about it. It was he who made the first move. "I don't want to be alone," he said. And as if making a decision, he kissed her. She responded, letting her hands roam over his well-muscled back as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled away all too quickly. "I'm sorry. I want this, but I can't--" He stood suddenly and began to pace the length of the room. "I can't help feeling like this is all Irina's fault."

"Why?" Oh, shit, Irina wasn't going to like this. Undoubtedly, it had never occurred to the woman that Michael Vaughn might turn against her in all this.

"Hiding the fact that I was alive from Sydney and the children? Telling me that Sydney was dead? That was nothing but fucking cruel and self-serving, Brooke. The truth is, she got scared that Sydney and I might try to betray her, and she decided it would serve her interests better to have us working against each other than against her."

Brooke stayed silent. No, Irina wasn't going to like this one bit. "Please don't do anything stupid, Michael," she finally said. "Maybe you don't believe what Irina says are her reasons for doing what she did, but-- it is better to be working with her than against her, okay?"

"Yeah," Michael said, a bit distractedly. "Look, it's late, Brooke. I think I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"Okay," she said, rising from the couch.

Michael looked at her, his green eyes sad, wistful. He moved toward her, placing a tender hand on her cheek. "I really do appreciate you coming over," he said, a bit regretfully. "And I won't pretend I don't wish that I were a different kind of man."

She knew what he meant, though he was too kind to actually say it. The kind of man that could just blithely take a willing girl to bed without a thought of the consequences, of her feelings. Irina would have been pleased if the two of them had slept together that night, and the two of them probably would have enjoyed it, too. But it was better this way. Michael was better this way. 

"Don't wish that," she told him, her voice firm. Why would he want to be a different kind of man, when he was already one of the best she knew? God. If Irina hadn't taken her soul so many years ago, maybe she really could have brought herself to love him. To let him save her, to prove herself worthy of him.

But he didn't want that any more than she did. Even if he was heartbroken at what Sydney had done right then, there was no doubt in Brooke's mind that he would get past it. He loved her. "Michael, I told you not to do anything stupid," she said, a bit hesitantly.

"Yes," he said, removing the hand from her cheek.

"But if you were to do something stupid tonight, like, say, go to Sydney and your children--" She sighed. Maybe she did have something of a heart left, after all. "I'd give you a head start before I told Irina."

Michael smiled that gorgeous smile once again. Brooke knew she should cherish it. It was probably the last time she'd see it directed at her. "Thank you, Brooke," he said. "Now go, before you know for a fact that I'm going to do something that you should tell her."

"Got it," Brooke said with a smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Good luck, Michael."

"Thanks, Brooke. I'm going to need it."

She didn't respond.

If he was going against Irina, he would.


	20. Dead for a Year

****

Chapter Twenty:

Dead for a Year

"Come with me."

Sydney stared blankly at the man in front of her, as if she was seeing a ghost. _He is a ghost. Michael is dead. Dead, dead, dead._ And if he wasn't, he was being held in some US Government facility somewhere. Not standing on her doorstep.

Except he was standing on her doorstep. Looking rather like hell, but not bad for someone who'd been dead for a year. She wanted to ask him what had happened to him, where he'd been that he hadn't been able to get in touch with her for the past year, how he'd found her. She did none of those things. She simply wrapped her arms around him and collapsed against him, sobbing.

It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't returning her embrace. She pulled back away from him, eyes full of tears and confusion. "Michael, what--"

"Is he here?"

Sydney took a step back, gasping. _He knew._ But how-- oh, God, it didn't matter how. She had to say something soon, to get rid of whatever images that were undoubtedly going through Michael's head. "No, he's not here," she said quickly. "We haven't been-- I mean--"

"Oh, God, I don't care," Michael cut her off. She had never seen his eyes so full of-- well, hurt, disgust, anger. But love, too. There was still love there. "I mean, I do, I hate what you've done--"

"Oh, Michael, I--"

"Let me finish!" he cut in, his voice harsher than she had ever heard it. At least, harsher than she'd heard it directed at her. "I hate what you've done, but I know I'll get past it, someday, and I'm not going to let a little thing like you--" he curled his hands into fists, looking past her, not at her. "--like you fucking that bastard Sark get in the way of what I have to do."

His words tore through her. She wanted to do a million things, to cry, to explain. Instead she asked, her voice soft, "What do you have to do, Michael?"

Suddenly he looked right at her, into her, his green eyes pleading, imploring. "I have to run away, tonight. And I need you and the children to come with me."

"Michael, what--"

"I'll explain it all later, but Sydney, right now, you have to trust me." His eyes were so hopeful, so-- oh, _damaged_-- that she nearly wanted to cry. "You have to pack bags for yourself and the kids, and find any cash you have stashed around the house, and you have to come with me."

"Michael, do you know how you sound?" she asked, suddenly finding the power to form a coherent sentence. "We tried to run before, remember? It ended with me thinking you were dead for a year. My mother--"

"Sydney, before we were running to make a deal with the CIA," Michael cut in. "This has nothing to do with the CIA, nothing to do with bringing your mother to justice. I think we both know how futile that battle is. This only has to do with us, you and me. Come with me."

It occurred to Sydney that they were still standing in the entryway of her apartment. Somewhere in her mind, it occurred to her that she should invite him in, ask if he wanted to sit down. There would be time enough for that later. "But my mother--"

"Sydney," Michael interrupted. This time his voice was strong, firm. "I can't tell you that the entire last year has been an orchestration of your mother's, but I can tell you that she has used the situation to her advantage, and that she has known that I was alive for a very, very long time."

Sydney just stared at him, eyes full of tears. The saddest part was that she didn't doubt for a moment that the words were true.

"Sydney, if you love me, if you even care about me at all, you'll come with me."

There were so many things she wanted to ask him. So much that the two of them were going to have to work through. She didn't hesitate before giving him an answer.

"Okay."


	21. Always Have A Plan

****

Chapter Twenty-One: Always Have A Plan

"Thank you."

Irina Derevko smiled down at Jack Bristow, finding that the haggard, dispirited look on his face pleased her, as did his surroundings. She realized that there had been great advances to the prison system in the past several years. Not in her universe. The accommodations she kept her prisoners in resembled something described by Alexandre Dumas in _The Count of Monte Cristo_ or _The Man in the Iron Mask._

"I can't imagine why you'd be thanking me," he said listlessly. In the beginning, he had been rather antagonistic and unpleasant to her on her many visits to his cell; now, he had clearly given up caring. Irina wasn't sure if this should make her happy or worry her. Honestly, she didn't care enough about the man for it to evoke much emotion in her at all.

"For planting lovely little seeds of knowledge in our darling Sydney's head." Irina paced about his cell confidently, gun in hand. She didn't intend to use it, but even in his weakened state, she couldn't be certain that he was incapable of overpowering her physically. She certainly wouldn't have put it past the bastard. "Letting her have hope that her Michael is alive."

Jack stared up at her, dark eyes lifeless. "Again, I'm not sure why you're thanking me. All I've done is tell her the truth. As far as I know, Michael _is_ still alive."

"Oh, I know he is, darling."

The look of surprise on Jack's face nearly made Irina want to slap him. Surely the man knew better than to underestimate her by now.

"He's been working for me at another location for the last eight months, all the while believing that his precious Sydney is dead."

Irina enjoyed the look of shock and disgust on Jack's face. "And I believe I'm correct in assuming that you didn't tell Sydney this, even after I got her wondering about the truth about his death."

"Of course I didn't." Irina offered her former husband a mirthless smile. "There's no reason for me to tell her a thing. I assume Michael will be locating her any time now, if he hasn't already."

Jack merely stared at her. "And why would you allow for the possibility that he would do that?"

Irina merely smiled once more. "You know me, Jack darling. I always have a plan."


	22. Die Trying

****

Chapter Twenty-two: Die Trying

Michael gripped the steering wheel, doing his best to stare straight ahead. It wasn't so hard. The only alternative was looking at Sydney, and when he looked at her, it was difficult to see anything but her betrayal.

Their escape had been harried, frenzied, bits and pieces of the events of the last year relayed as they packed. The children had been the most difficult thing to deal with. Seeing their presumed dead father after all this time was hardly an every day occurrence, and there hadn't been a lot of time to explain. Four hours into their drive, though, the two of them had finally calmed down and drifted off to sleep. Michael had gruffly told Sydney that she should do the same, but she merely sat, staring, like him, straight ahead, occasionally stealing glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Mike?" she asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence, her voice soft, tentative.

He didn't answer, didn't, in fact, acknowledge that she had spoken. He just stared ahead at the road, gripping the steering wheel even more tightly.

"Mike, how did you find me? My apartment, I mean."

"Banning," Michael muttered. She'd jotted Sydney's address down on a slip of paper and pressed it into his hand, kissing his cheek before she'd left him to do what she'd known he was going to do. She really could be quite sweet when she wanted to be. Maybe they'd have even had a future together, if Sydney didn't have such a tight hold on his heart.

"Oh." The tone of Sydney's voice was strained, surprised, jealous even. "Banning. Were you and she--"

"Doing what you and Sark had been doing for the last six months?" Michael snapped. "That's none of your damned business, Sydney."

Sydney's eyes widened, and she sat back against her seat, stunned. _That's right, Sydney_, Michael thought nastily. _Think the worst. Picture us doing all of the things I've pictured you and Sark doing. Go ahead and wonder whether I told her she was beautiful, whether she moaned my name, whimpered it, screamed it. Wonder whether I enjoyed her like I enjoyed you._ "Was he good?" he blurted.

Sydney's eyes grew even wider. "Excuse me?"

"Sark," Michael spat. He felt the anger as acutely as he had the moment Irina had given him the news. "Was he good enough to make you forget me?"

Sydney's eyes filled with tears, and for once, Michael didn't feel the urge to brush them away. "Don't be cruel," she said.

"Was he?" Michael demanded. He _was_ being cruel, and he knew it, and he liked it. He wanted to hurt her as badly as she'd hurt him, make her suffer for her transgressions. "How did he worm his way into your bed, Sydney?"

"Michael--"

"Or did you seduce him?" he continued. "How did it start, Syd? Did you come up behind him at his desk after a rough meeting and start massaging his shoulders? Did you end up on his lap, wrapping your--"

"You don't want to do this, Michael," Sydney cut in, snapping her head to stare out the window.

"I think I do," Michael said roughly. "I think I need to know how you could-- _replace_ me. Fuck him in a bed right down the hall from my children." He glanced quickly to the backseat to make sure they were still asleep. They were.

"I needed someone, okay?" A lone tear rolled down Sydney's cheek. "I needed someone who was everything you're not."

Michael wasn't quite sure what to say to that. _She needed._ There it was again, that phrase that was supposed to make everything all right, everything excusable.

"What about you?" Sydney asked harshly. "Did Brooke Banning's years of whoring for my mother turn her into a goddess in the bedroom?"

"I wouldn't know," Michael shot back. "I never slept with her."

A long silence from Sydney. "Oh."

"Oh, I wanted to," Michael assured her. "I just-- couldn't. Even after I learned what you'd been doing with Sark, I just couldn't bring myself to do it."

"Saint Michael," Sydney whispered.

Michael looked at her sharply. "Would you be happier if I said I _had_ slept with her?"

Sydney sighed. "Of course not," she said, running a hand back through her hair. "It's nice that one of us could survive the other's death without completely destroying himself."

A long silence hung between them. "Why did you want me with you, Michael?" Sydney asked after a long moment. "You obviously find what I did completely inexcusable, why didn't you just snatch up the kids and take off?"

Almost in spite of himself, Michael took one hand from the wheel to take her hand. "I still love you, Syd," he said, almost regretfully. "I'm still angry and I'm going to do horrible things to you. I'm going to make you feel guilty and act as if I'm doing you a favor for taking you back. But I still love you." He locked eyes with her for one brief moment. "Need you."

She unlocked her seatbelt and slid up next to him on the bench seat, resting her head on his shoulder. He didn't pull away. "I need you too, Michael," she whispered. "So much."

He let one arm slip around her shoulders, needing her close to him even as he wished he didn't.

"My mother's going to find us, Michael," she whispered.

"I know," he responded. "But we have to try, Syd. We have to try to get out from under her thumb."

"Oh, Michael," she said woefully. "We know that's not possible."

He wanted to disagree with her, to tell her that somehow, some way, they would be free from Irina Derevko. Deep down he knew it wasn't true, though. 

They'd died trying the first time.


	23. Pit Stop

****

Chapter Twenty-three: Pit Stop

Sydney dozed on Michael's shoulder for she wasn't sure how long. All she was certain of was that when she had drifted off, the sun had only just been peeking over the horizon, and when she woke, it was high in the sky. She sat up straight, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, then turned to gaze back at her children. Jack was still passed out-- he had always been one to sleep as long as he was allowed-- and Emily sat quietly playing with a pair of dolls. So young, so innocent. So able to take everything in stride. Sydney wished the same was true of herself.

"Morning, sweetie," she said quietly, not wanting to rouse her son.

"Morning, Mommy," Emily said blissfully.

Sydney smiled and turned her attention to Michael, lowering her voice even more. "You must be exhausted, baby." She wasn't sure if she'd earned the right to call him _baby_, but doing so felt so right. "Want me to drive for awhile?"

"I was thinking of stopping in the next town," Michael responded, speaking in the same hushed tone. "We should eat, and pick up more food for the trip, and find something new to drive."

Sydney nodded. "Where do we go from there?"

"I think we should get on a plane sometime today," Michael replied. "Doesn't matter where to. We just need to keep moving, then maybe eventually we'll find somewhere safe we can stay for awhile."

Sydney frowned. She and Michael had collected a fair amount of fake passports and aliases over the years, some Irina hadn't bothered to keep track of. It was the children that were the problem. Securing false documents for the two of them had never been necessary in the past, and there hadn't been time to do so in their hurried getaway. "I wish there was someone we could trust to keep the kids until we get settled somewhere," she said, her voice low. "Do we know anyone who doesn't have ties to the Organization?"

Michael sighed. "I thought about Eric Weiss, or my mother," he confessed. "But I hate to put either of them in danger."

"I don't think we could trust Weiss not to send the CIA after us, anyway."

Michael nodded. "I hate what we're about to put the kids through, but I think they'll be safest with us."

"What are you about to put us through, Dad?"

Sydney's head jerked towards the backseat. Shit. Jack was awake.

"Jack, buddy," Michael said, glancing at his son in the rearview mirror. "From here on out, I need you and your sister to do exactly as your mother and I say and not argue or ask questions, okay?"

Jack smirked. "So I can't ask how you came back from the dead?"

"I wasn't dead," Michael said tersely. "Your grandmother just made your mother think I was."

"Why?"

"Jack--"

"It's okay, Sydney," Michael interrupted her. "Jack, she did it because she knew we were thinking about working against her, and she didn't like it." Sydney glanced at her husband. His lips were set firmly in a straight line.

"Why were you thinking about working against Grandma?"

"Because she's not a good person, Jack." Sydney could tell that Michael was getting a bit tired of this line of questioning, but she figured he would put a stop to it when he was ready.

"Why were you working for her at all, then?" Jack pressed.

"When we went to work for her, it seemed like the best option available to us." _Seemed like_ being the operative words. What would have happened if they would have explored their other options? Would Sydney have taken down SD-6 and the Alliance? Would Michael have chosen a new career as a teacher or a lawyer or an actor?

Would they still have been together?

At least Sydney could feel fairly certain that the answer to the last question was _yes_. If they had made it through the hell of the last decade, surely they could make it through anything.

They reached the outskirts of a small city-- Sydney had no idea where they were, and she didn't think it mattered-- and Michael pulled into the parking lot of a small diner. "Syd, why don't you and the kids go in and get something to eat?" he suggested. "I'm going to go see about finding something new to drive."

"Does that mean you're going to steal a car?" Jack piped up.

Michael frowned. "You've asked enough questions, Jack."

"That means he is," Jack told Emily conspiratorially.

"That's enough," Michael said, green eyes flashing. "Syd, I'll be back soon."

"Okay, sweetheart." He flinched at the endearment even as Sydney sensed he wanted for things to go back to the way they'd been before. "Do you want me to order you something?"

"No, thanks, I'll just pick something up."

"Before or after you steal the car?" 

"Jack!" Sydney and Michael said in unison. They exchanged a glance before Sydney made a move to get out of the car.

"Be careful, Michael," she said, placing a tender hand on his cheek.

"I will," he said. He hesitated before adding, "I love you, Syd."

"I love you, Michael." She kissed him once, briefly on the lips before she, Jack, and Emily climbed out of the car and headed for the restaurant.


	24. Behind Closed Doors

****

Chapter Twenty-four: Behind Closed Doors

They had been seated and given menus before Jack started with the questions again.

"Does Dad know about you and Sark?"

Sydney arched one eyebrow, wondering how much a nine-year-old knew about what went on between a man and a woman behind closed doors. Knowing Jack, probably far more than she would have preferred. "What do _you _know about me and Sark, Jack?"

Jack shrugged as a waitress approached their table and asked for their drink orders. Sydney ordered coffee for herself and juice for the children.

"I wanted a Coke," Jack told his mother sullenly, once the waitress had gone.

"You can have one later, in the car."

"The stolen car?"

"Jack," Sydney sighed, rubbing her temples tiredly.

Glaring at her, Jack flipped open his menu. "I'm not ordering off of the children's menu."

"Fine," Sydney muttered.

"And I'm just going to get French fries. French fries and a piece of pumpkin pie."

"Fine, Jack."

"Can I have French fries and pie, too?" Emily asked, face brightening.

"I don't care," Sydney sighed. She waited for the waitress to return to serve their drinks and take their orders before she spoke again. "What do you know about me and Sark, Jack?"

Jack played with his fork, twirling it around in his fingers like a baton. "I know that he spends the night," he muttered. "I know that you kissed him and acted like you used to with Dad."

"Did I?" Sydney asked unhappily. _Like you used to with Dad_. Nothing she'd done with Sark had been like anything she'd done with Michael, but she supposed a nine-year-old couldn't tell the difference.

"Yeah, you did," Jack confirmed. "Does Dad know?"

Sydney looked away, biting her lower lip. "Yes, he does."

Jack frowned. "Is he mad?"

Sydney looked down at the scratched white surface of the table in front of her. "Yeah," she said, remembering the bitterness in Michael's voice. _Was he good? Was he good enough to make you forget me?_ "Yeah, he's mad."

Jack stared at her for a long moment before speaking again. "How come he wanted you to come with us, then?"

Sydney bit her lower lip, trying to stop the tears from springing to her eyes. "He loves me, Jack," she said softly. "You don't stop loving someone just because they do something to make you mad."

Jack only stared at her. Luckily, the waitress materialized again with plates of French fries and pumpkin pie. Sydney had decided she wasn't hungry.

The children ate in silence for a moment before Jack shoved his plate toward his mother. "Have some," he urged, his mouth full. 

"No thanks," Sydney said, offering him a tiny smile.

"You should eat something," he encouraged.

Sydney couldn't stop the tears from coming to her eyes even as her smile grew wider. He was so like his father. He was still angry at her, had been angry at her for the last year, but he still loved her so much.

Half-heartedly, she plucked a French fry from his plate and popped it in her mouth. And she shared a smile with her son over the plate of grease.


	25. The Way Things Used to Be

****

Chapter Twenty-five: The Way Things Used to Be

"Daddy!"

Michael grinned as the little girl came flying across the diner to greet him. God. He'd almost forgotten what this was like-- being with his family.

"Hey, princess," he said, leaning down to envelope her in a hug.

"Come sit with us, Daddy," she urged, wriggling out of his grasp and taking him by the hand, all but dragging him over to the booth where Sydney and Jack were sharing a plate of French fries. "We're having French fries and pumpkin pie."

"French fries and pumpkin pie?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows at Sydney in a silent question.

"Have some, Daddy," Emily encouraged, dropping his hand so she could scramble into the booth next to Jack.

"I didn't have the heart to argue," Sydney explained. She smiled up at him, and for a moment, it was as if the last year had never happened, as if they'd never been apart. As if Irina hadn't stuffed the two of them full of enough lies to keep them miserable for the rest of their lives.

"Hey, it's okay," Michael said, touching her cheek fondly. He wasn't sure if that was appropriate now, wasn't sure how he was supposed to act, how he was supposed to feel. He only knew that he wanted desperately to forget all that she had done, forget how he was hurting and just go back to the way things had been. Maybe he would. Irina had kept him away from the woman he loved for the last year, why should he let his pride keep him away for longer? "French fries and pie sound good to me, too," he said, sliding into the booth next to her.

"Did you want to order something else?" Sydney asked, brow knitted in concern. "I thought you were going to pick something up for yourself."

"Oh, I had a little something," Michael said offhandedly. A bag of stale gas station popcorn and a Snickers bar, to be exact, but really, he wasn't hungry. He flashed his wife a smile that he knew would erase the worry from her face. "I've missed this," he said simply. He knew she knew what he meant. Family dinners with Emily chattering away happily and Jack looking on with solemn green eyes. His wife at his side, beautiful and loving. God, he wanted this, he wanted all of this, wanted to pretend the last year hadn't happened, wanted--

"You've missed a lot, Daddy," Emily interrupted his thoughts. "I started kindergarten, and I'm learning to read and count and--"

She said more, but Michael didn't hear a word of it. God, he _had_ missed a lot. Emily's first day of school and birthdays and holidays and--

"She's doing beautifully," Sydney interrupted his reverie. "Her teacher is always telling me what a bright little girl she is."

"Well, we already knew that," Michael said, smiling at his daughter.

"Where have you been, Dad?" Jack demanded, apparently deciding he'd been silent long enough. "Why couldn't we know you were alive for the last year?"

"I've been working for the Organization at another location, Jack," Michael said. He didn't feel like evading the question, didn't feel like making up a lie. "Your grandmother told me that the CIA knew where our operation was and that it was important that I stay away, that everyone at the original Organization headquarters believe I was dead. She told me--" he looked away. "She told me that your mother had died, Jack." Beside him, Sydney gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

Across the table, Jack nodded as if he wanted to understand but didn't, not really. "We've really missed you," he said, his voice wavering a little.

__

Yes, Michael couldn't help but think. _But you moved on._ Sydney had opened her home, her bed, her legs to another man. Emily, young and sweet as she was, had probably welcomed the new man in her mother's life with open arms. Michael's heart ached as he pictured his daughter smiling at Sark, climbing onto his lap so he could read her a story.

And Jack. Well, it look like Jack had been more resistant. As unwilling to move on with his life as his father had been.

__

What are you so angry about? A voice in Michael's head whispered. _That your wife and children were able to build a new life in your absence? Or that you might never have been able to do the same?_

He didn't say any of that. Instead, he simply reached across the table and placed a hand over his son's. 

"I've missed you too."


	26. Forgiveness

****

Chapter Twenty-six: Forgiveness

__

Michael lay his head gently, barely, against Sydney's ample stomach, marveling at the thought of the new life that dwelled inside. Sydney smiled down at him, idly raking her hands through his hair. "Can you believe it, Michael?" she asked, her voice soft. "Another baby." 

Michael turned his head slightly to kiss the growing mound. "A girl this time," he said fondly. He'd been an only child; he loved that his son was going to have a little sister. 

"Have you decided which name you like better?" she asked. They'd been going back and forth between Emily and Grace; Sydney didn't have a preference, but Michael was agonizing over the decision.

"I don't know," he said, moving so that he was at her eye level, lying on his side on the cool linen sheets. "You're sure you don't like one better than the other?"

"What does it matter, Michael?" she said with a smile. "We can give whichever name we don't use to our next little girl."

"Next one, huh?" he asked, returning her smile.

"Well," she said, a bit shyly. "We do have another room to fill."

He leaned over to kiss her. "I love you," he told her. "I love that you love being a mommy."

"I love you, too."

Michael opened his eyes drowsily, surprised to find his head in Sydney's lap, her fingers dragging lazily through his hair. He'd always loved it when she did that.

Regardless, he forced himself to sit up, even more surprised to find that Sydney was driving them through darkness. He'd drifted off almost immediately after they'd left the diner; from the looks of things, he'd been out for hours.

"Hey, baby," Sydney said, her voice soft. _Baby._ She was slipping so easily into their old way of being. He wanted so badly to do the same. "You must have been exhausted."

"I don't think I've slept in days," he said truthfully.

"Mmm," she responded. "Look, Michael, I know you talked about getting on a plane today, and I know it's important to keep moving, but I really think it would be nice to get a hotel room, at least for a few hours. Shower and change."

"That's fine with me," he said. She must have been tired, too, and he honestly didn't feel up to driving again. "The kids would probably appreciate sleeping on a bed." He glanced back to see the two of them dozing in the back seat, feeling a wave of tenderness. "Syd?"

"Hmm?" She was slowing down as they entered the small town-- it had a name, but Vaughn didn't recognize it, and he figure it didn't matter where they were, anyway-- and keeping her eyes peeled for Vacancy signs.

"Remember--" Maybe this wasn't the best time to bring this up, but he couldn't stop himself. "Remember when we used to talk about having another child?"

Sydney looked at him, surprised. "Before Emily was even born, maybe. Michael, you know why we didn't." 

Yes, he knew why. After they'd almost lost Emily…the thought of going through that again, with another child, was too much to bear. Still-- "Would you and Sark--?" He couldn't even bring himself to finish the question. It made him sick to his stomach.

She finished it for him. "Would Sark and I have had a baby?" She actually laughed, a brittle, little laugh. "Give me a break, Michael. You know what your problem is?"

"I have a pretty good idea," he muttered.

"You're actually torturing yourself with the idea that Sark meant something to me." Sydney shook her head. "I didn't love him, Michael."

"But you needed him," Michael responded. "Just like you needed me at one point in your life."

"No, _not_ just like I needed you," Sydney said firmly. "He was a distraction. Someone as cold and heartless as I believed I had to be to run my mother's organization." She pulled into the parking lot of a motel, turning her full attention to Michael. "You were always the one who kept me sane, you know that?"

Michael looked away.

"The one who kept me from turning into my mother. When you-- when I thought you died, I didn't see any reason to try anymore."

"That's ridiculous, Sydney," he said gruffly. "You had the kids."

"They weren't reason enough."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Sydney looking at Michael, Michael looking out the window.

"What do you want me to do, Michael?" Sydney said after a long moment of silence. "You want me to grovel? Beg for your forgiveness? I will, you know."

"I don't want you to beg," Michael muttered. "You thought I was dead, you had the right to move on if you wanted to. I just--"

He didn't finish his sentence, but both of them knew how it would have ended. _I just wish you hadn't._

"I didn't move on, Michael." She leaned over to brush the hair from his forehead. He winced but didn't push her away. "I never loved him. I know this sounds like something from a bad romance novel, but my heart was always with you."

He finally dared to look at her. Her expression was so earnest, so pained.

"I believe you," he said softly.

And she smiled. Not one of her gorgeous, patented Sydney smiles, the kind that could light up a room, but a small one, a flickering. An offering.

He reached up, tentatively, and touched her cheek. "You're so beautiful."

Tears sprung to her eyes. "I'm sorry, Michael," she said. "So sorry, you can't even--"

He stopped her, capturing her lips with his. Maybe this wasn't all that needed to happen. Maybe he would always harbor angry feelings toward her for what she'd done. Maybe he would never truly be able to forget what she'd done.

But he was ready to forgive.


	27. Gone

****

Chapter Twenty-seven: Gone

Irina held the metal plate that contained Jack Bristow's meal, smiling as she anticipated delivering it to him. There weren't a lot of things that brought her pleasure in her life. Torturing her former husband did.

She'd told him that she imagined that Michael would be locating Sydney at any moment. In truth, she'd been sure of no such thing. Part of her had believed that Brooke really would work her magic, that she'd have Michael sampling her favors by the end of the night. But she'd taken a perverse thrill in letting Jack believe that Sydney had even more power over Michael than she'd once had over him. The power to keep him coming back for more, even after unspeakable actions and misdeeds.

As it turned out, Irina had been right, though it seemed that Michael had more power over Sydney than she'd suspected. More brains, too. Part of her had thought that he would actually believe that she'd let him believe Sydney was dead for his own good. Certainly, she hadn't thought he'd convince Sydney to leave her again. She almost admired the boy-- he was good. Too bad he was as good as dead, now.

Brooke Banning had come to her the morning after she'd gone to seduce Michael, reporting that she'd been unsuccessful and that she suspected that Michael might be going after Sydney and his children. She'd been right. Irina had sent agents out looking for her daughter and son-in-law, though she wasn't wasting a lot of manpower or effort on the search. When she wanted to find the two of them, she would. There was no doubt in her mind.

For now, though, she had bigger fish to fry. Jack Bristow, for one. The thought that he'd nearly succeeded in getting Sydney and Michael to betray her made her blood boil. Had he _really_ thought that he would beat her? After the ten years she'd spent convincing him she was a loving wife and mother? After the way Sydney had come to her for help, for a job eleven years ago?

Well, Jack Bristow was a fool, and she was never going to let him forget it. For as much as she'd enjoyed putting the screws to Sydney and Michael during the past year, half of her pleasure had come from the fact that by doing so, she was also putting the screws to Jack. She was ruining his precious Sydney, making her miserable. Because she could. Because she wanted to.

And so now she turned the corner to Jack's cell, metal plate in hand, wicked smile on her face. "Jack," she called.

As soon as his cell was in view, though, the smile disappeared from her face. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. How could this have happened?

Jack Bristow was gone.


	28. Suspect

****

Chapter Twenty-eight: Suspect

"You wanted to see me, Irina?"

Irina directed a cool smile at Brooke Banning. "Yes, come in, Brooke. Close the door behind me, and know that if you tell anyone-- anyone at all-- about anything we talk about, the consequences will be severe."

Brooke raised her eyebrows. "Of course, Irina," she said, settling herself into the black leather chair opposite her employer. As usual, Irina noted, she was dressed just a trifle more provocatively than the situation warranted, having chosen a black dress so short it bordered on indecent for their meeting. Then again, if there was one thing Irina had told her again and again in the sixteen years since their first meeting, it was that her looks and sexuality were by far her greatest assets. Irina supposed she couldn't blame the girl for highlighting them.

"What do you know about Jack Bristow?" Irina demanded.

Brooke frowned. "I--" she hesitated. "I know that he's being held prisoner at one of our facilities."

Irina studied her carefully. "And that's all you know?"

Brooke regarded her quizzically. "Is there something else?"

Irina sighed. Of course Brooke wouldn't have set Jack free. She was a good girl, loyal, though she had taken her time letting Irina know that she believed Michael was going to go to Sydney and his children. No matter. Irina supposed she couldn't fault the girl for having a soft spot for the glorious Michael Vaughn.

"Brooke, it seems that Jack Bristow has escaped."

Brooke's eyebrows shot practically to the ceiling. "How?"

"That's what I don't know," Irina said with a sigh. "I or someone else checks on him three times a day, and there's a guard near his cell. The only way I can think he would have gotten free is if someone had let him go."

Brooke's pretty features darkened. "And you thought I might have done that," she said, her voice flat. "Irina, I--"

"Oh, spare me the righteous indignation," Irina interrupted. "I know that you wouldn't betray me under normal circumstances, Brooke. But if you thought it might somehow help Michael Vaughn--"

"I told you that Michael was going to go to Sydney!" Brooke cried.

"You gave him a head start before you did so," Irina pointed out.

Brooke didn't say anything, just sat here, arms folded before her sullenly.

"I don't blame you for doing so, Brooke," Irina said, voice soft as she rose from her chair. She circled to Brooke's side of the desk, placing a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "In some ways, I actually admire you."

Brooke stared at her, a question in her eyes.

"After all," Irina said with a cool smile. "Loving a man who will never return your feelings is rather thankless, isn't it?"

"Fuck you."

Irina let out a brittle little laugh as she returned to her seat. "You always were a spirited one, Brooke."

"Fuck you," Brooke repeated. "Michael's a good guy, and I like him, sure. But for you to assume that I love him and would go to any lengths to ensure his safety is both presumptuous and inaccurate."

Irina smirked. "Pretty big words for a runaway with an eighth-grade education."

"Fuck you."

"Now there's the Brooke I know and love."

The two women glared at each other for a long moment before Brooke spoke again. "Besides," she said. "I don't see how freeing Jack Bristow would help Michael in the least. Last I knew, Mr. Bristow believed his daughter to be a traitor. All freeing him would do is increase the chances that the CIA would take Sydney and Michael into custody."

Irina frowned, considering her words. "He might only take Sydney," she said slowly. "Leaving Michael free for you."

"Doubtful," Brooke snapped. "Open your eyes, Irina. The only way anyone would want Jack free is if he or she wanted the CIA to take Syd and Michael into custody. And the only way anyone would want that is if he or she wanted to take full control of the Organization without interference from the two of them."

Irina's eyes widened. "My God," she whispered. Brooke was right. Brooke had never cared much about running the Organization. But there was one person who did, and he would definitely go to the lengths Brooke had described to secure his own seat at the throne.

Sark.


	29. Creations of Irina Derevko

****

Chapter Twenty-nine: Creations of Irina Derevko

"I think we need to have a word, Ms. Banning."

Brooke looked up from the stack of papers on her desk, smirking at her former lover. "Sark," she greeted him. "Shouldn't you be on a plane to the other side of the world right now? Irina knows you're the one who set Jack Bristow free."

"Jack Bristow is free?"

For just a moment, Brooke's heart stopped. Maybe he _wasn't_ responsible, and she had just told him something Irina could very well kill her for. Then she saw the smug smile on Sark's face, and she knew her suspicions had been right. Sark had freed Jack Bristow. "You're so full of shit, Sark."

"Maybe," he agreed, perching on the edge of her desk. "What I want to know, Ms. Banning, is why you were so quick to point Irina in my direction."

"Maybe because you were guilty," she shot back.

"Maybe." Sark drew closer to her; he stood behind her and began massaging her shoulders. "Or maybe you have your own agenda."

"Get your hands off of me," Brooke snarled, flinching away from his touch.

"You didn't used to mind my hands on you, did you, Brooke?"

"Go to hell," Brooke snapped. Of course what he said was true. Not only had she not minded his touch, she had craved it; she had actually loved the bastard once. The two of them had been recruited into Irina's organization at practically the same time; they'd been teenagers, children, really. It had been scary-- before Irina had found her, Brooke had been a junkie, a whore, and Sark hadn't been much better off. They'd been grateful to Irina, at first, for saving them. Little had they known that she was ushering them into a life of indentured servitude where they would find comfort in only each other.

It hadn't been as bad for Sark. He hadn't been expected to trade his body for intel, to sleep with whoever Irina asked him to. For that, Brooke would always be resentful. She knew that was why. Why Sark wanted badly to rule the Organization while Brooke wanted only a way out. Why they had fallen out of love with each other, if Sark had ever cared for her at all.

"Poor, sweet, Brooke." Sark's lips touched her neck, and Brooke shivered. Not that Brooke Banning was even her real name. Brooke Banning and David Sark were inventions, creations of Irina, and in Sark's case, she had definitely created a monster. "I would think you would be thanking me."

"_Thanking_ you?" Brooke repeated incredulously.

"Of course," Sark said. "You were Jack Bristow's contact within the Organization. Perhaps now that he's free, he'll offer you a deal. A way out."

Brooke swiveled to face him, glaring up at him. "You know that if I do, your ass is going to jail for the rest of your life."

"I'm sure you won't let that happen, Brooke." Sark trailed his index finger along her jaw line. She wanted to tell him not to touch her, but she seemed to have lost the power of speech. "After all, you can't tell all you know about the Organization without incriminating your precious Michael Vaughn."

Brooke wanted to protest that she cared nothing for Michael Vaughn, but she thought it best to pick her battles. "What the hell kind of deal can Jack Bristow offer me if I'm not willing to talk, Sark?"

"That's a good question, Brooke," Sark said, his voice soft. "Maybe you should stop trying to get out and content yourself with running the Organization with me."

"You-- you're not going to run the Organization," Brooke said, but she knew her words lacked conviction. "Irina doesn't trust you."

"Then I'll just have to get rid of Irina, won't I?"

Brooke's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"Why not?" Sark said with a shrug, moving around the desk to sit in one of the black leather chairs facing Brooke. "Over the past year she's stupidly given me access to everything-- files, contacts. And I learned so much from Sydney. Irina's really outlived her usefulness, if you ask me."

Brooke glared at him. "I could easily tell Irina what you've told me, Sark."

"You could," he agreed. "But you won't. Because you know I'll succeed, Ms. Banning, and if I find out you've tried to sabotage me, you'll be dead, too." He rose from his chair, returning to her side of the desk so he could kiss her cheek. "Think it over, darling. The next few days are going to prove to be very important, and I think it's best that you decide where your loyalties lie."

He paused once on his way out the door. "By the way, I hear Irina gave you orders to seduce your Mr. Vaughn. Was he everything you always dreamed?"

"It turns out that my Mr. Vaughn is more honorable than your Sydney," Brooke snapped. She tried to stay cool, but damn it, she couldn't do it. "So I wouldn't know."

Sark made a tsking sound, shaking his head. "You're losing your touch, Ms. Banning." 

He slipped out the door before she could think of a proper comeback. So she merely sat back against her chair, letting the tears well up in her eyes even as she willed herself not to cry.


	30. The Call

****

Chapter Thirty: The Call

Sydney lay on her side facing Michael on the hotel bed, the fingers of her left hand intertwining with his. She knew they were being careless, that they should have snagged a few hours of sleep and showered and changed quickly. Instead, they had lay awake and talked for hours after the children had drifted off in the other bed, trying to catch up on the details of the past year-- the parts that weren't too painful to discuss, anyway.

"I just can't believe," she said softly, brushing his adorably disheveled hair back from his forehead. "That my mother knew you were alive when--" she paused, not wanting to finish the sentence but not wanting to avoid the subject, either. "--when I started seeing Sark."

Michael didn't respond, only stared at her solemnly with sleepy green eyes.

"I mean, obviously she was never a wonderful person," Sydney continued. "But I did believe that she cared about me."

"She cares about her Organization more, Sydney." Michael softened his words with a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You almost double-crossed her, and she wanted to punish you-- punish us-- for that. Plus, she apparently decided we were of more use to her working against each other than working together."

"I guess." Sydney shifted onto her back, more hurt than she could put into words for what her mother had done to her.

"Syd." Michael was still on his side, staring down at her.

"Hmm?"

"Don't answer this if you don't want to."

Sydney looked up at him, a question in her brown eyes. 

Michael hesitated before continuing. "You said you didn't love Sark."

"I didn't," Sydney said quickly. She'd meant it when she'd said she would beg for his forgiveness. She'd do anything not to lose Michael. "I don't."

"I believe you," Michael responded. "But Sydney-- how did he feel about you?"

Sydney winced. "Michael--"

"Was-- is he in love with you?"

Sydney sighed. "Michael, no. He liked me, for sure, maybe he even cared about me. But he just wanted to get close to me to cement his position in the Organization."

"And you let him." Michael's voice was soft, hurt, and Sydney's heart ached for him.

"Close physically, Michael," Sydney said. "That's all."

They lay in silence for a moment before Sydney spoke again. "Michael, how did Brooke feel about her new status in the Organization?"

"She wants out, Sydney," Michael said without hesitation. "She got trapped into this life a long time ago and she wants out. She's a very sad, unhappy woman."

Sydney felt a twinge of something very close to jealousy at the concern in Michael's voice. "You got to know her pretty well, then."

"She was a good friend to me the last few months."

Sydney lay back on the bed. She couldn't have said exactly how she was feeling, but she couldn't help but think that his friendship with Brooke was just as painful for her to deal with as her relationship with Sark was for him. But then, part of that was just catty jealousy.

"So," she said, turning back to face him. "What do you think--"

Her question was cut off by the sound of a ringing phone, hers. The two of them just stared at each other.

She couldn't have said why, exactly, she decided to answer the call. She only knew that she couldn't have been more shocked by the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.

"Sydney. I think you and I can be a real help to each other."


	31. Negotiations

****

Chapter Thirty-One: Negotiations

"Sark," Sydney gasped, gripping the phone. As soon as the word was out of her mouth, she wished she hadn't said it; Michael's face darkened instantly. "Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Now, Sydney, is than any way to greet a former lover?" Sark's voice was positively gleeful. "If you'll remember correctly, it wasn't so long ago that you and I--"

"What the hell do you want, Sark?" Sydney demanded. She watched her son begin to stir; she would have liked to leave the room so as not to disturb him and Emily, but she suspected that Michael wouldn't have liked it very much if she did so.

Sark sighed as if disappointed that she wouldn't play along. "I told you, Sydney," he said, voice irritatingly calm. "I think you and I can help each other."

"I can't imagine with what," Sydney said, perching on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sure you can," Sark said. "Just use a little imagination."

Sydney sat silent for a long moment, fuming.

"Oh, you're no fun, darling," Sark said with another disappointed sigh. "All right, then. I'll cut to the chase."

"I'd love it if you would," Sydney said tersely. She watched as Michael rose from the bed and began to pace.

"Well, love, I'm assuming that your running off the way you did means that you have no interest in running the Organization."

"You assume correctly." By this point, Sydney was gripping the phone so hard her knuckles were turning white.

"Well, as you know, I'm very much interested in doing so, but I've done something that might not make your darling mother too happy with me."

A million possibilities ran through Sydney's mind. Had he pissed off one of her mother's contacts? Killed a valuable asset? "What have you done?"

"Hang up the phone," Michael said, pausing in front of her. "Damn it, Sydney, hang up." 

"Is that Michael?" Sark asked, sounding absolutely delighted. "I have to give you credit, Sydney. You must be quite good to have convinced him to take you back after the things you and I have done."

"You know how good I am," Sydney said haughtily. Michael looked nearly ready to rip someone's head off.

"That's right, I do." Sark's voice was low, seductive, and Sydney's eyes closed for a moment, remembering all the time she'd spent with him over the past six months. It hadn't been so bad, for the most part. She'd always felt so deliciously wicked when she was with him, and for a time, she'd enjoyed feeling that way. "We really were glorious together, Sydney."

"We were," Sydney said softly. She'd meant what she'd told her mother, Michael, everyone who'd asked-- Sark had been exactly what she'd needed to become the leader of the Organization she'd wanted to be.

Then she looked up into Michael's green eyes, so full of pain she wanted to cry, and she realized that what she'd needed then and what she needed now were definitely two different things.

"So-- what did you do to piss off my mother?" she managed to ask.

"Well, you see, Sydney, I let Jack Bristow free. Not free, exactly, but into my custody."

Sydney's eyes popped. "Why would you have done a thing like that?"

"I'm getting to that." Sark's voice was so irritatingly smug that Sydney would have liked to reach into the phone and strangle him. "I need your help, Sydney. I want to take over the Organization, but I hate to admit, I'm not ready to. I was out of the inner circle for so long that I'm afraid I don't know nearly as much about Irina's contacts and dealings as you do."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have pissed her off before you had a chance to find out what you needed to know."

"I probably shouldn't have," Sark agreed. "But I don't want her help, Sydney dear. I want yours."

"And why would I want to help you?"

"Oh, yes, that," Sark said, his tone almost dismissive. "Irina has operatives looking for you, Sydney. They know where you were three hours ago. I can't say how long it'll take them to catch up to you if you keep moving, but I do know that if I let Jack Bristow know, let him free, he'll catch up to you in no time and take you into CIA custody."

Sydney's eyes filled up with tears. How the hell had she put herself in his position. "What do you want me to do?" She wouldn't look at Michael. She had a feeling that the look in his eyes would have done her in.

"I want you and Michael to meet with me, and brief me on everything you know about the Organization. Contacts, operatives--"

"I don't know every last detail of the Organization's dealings off the top of my head, Sark."

"Oh, I'm sure you know more than you think you do." Now Sark's voice was more than vaguely threatening.

"And-- what will you do after you have the information you need?" Sydney asked.

"I'll see that you and your family are set up somewhere that Jack Bristow and the CIA can never get to you, on the condition that you never come back and try to take over the Organization."

"Believe me, taking over the Organization is the last thing I want to do," Sydney said with a sigh. "But wait a second. What about my mother?"

There was a long pause on Sark's end of the line. "Let's just say that it won't be long before your mother won't be a threat to either one of us."

Almost in spite of herself, Sydney felt her blood run cold. "And my father?" she whispered. "What will you do with him after I've done what you asked?"

Another long pause from Sark. "Well, that'll be up to you, Sydney dear. I think you and I can both agree that letting him free wouldn't be beneficial to either one of us."

Now it was Sydney's turn to be silent as she let his words sink in.

"Poor Sydney," Sark said, his voice suddenly soft, comforting. "I've given you a lot to think about, haven't I, darling?"

"Yes." The tears that she had managed to hold back suddenly spilled over, and she dared a glance at Michael. He was looking at her as if torn, as if not sure whether to comfort her or to tell her to get the hell out of his life.

"I'll tell you what," Sark told her. "I'll call you back in an hour with instructions on where to meet me. I'm sure the right thing to do will be clear to you by then."

He hung up before she had a chance to argue.


	32. Waiting

****

Chapter Thirty-two: Waiting

"Why the hell is he calling you?"

Sydney looked up at Michael's face, more angry than she'd ever seen it, and completely oblivious to the children-- Emily, still sleeping, and Jack, trying to pretend he was.

"He wants us to work with him," Sydney said, as calmly as she could manage.

"_Work_ with him?" Michael exploded. "Why the hell would he think we'd want to do that?"

"For God's sake, Michael, could you at least listen to what he had to say? He's fucking _blackmailing_ us, and I need your help here, not your jealous--"

"Mommy?"

Sydney winced. Great. So now Emily was awake, too. "What is it, sweetie?"

"Can I have a glass of water?" Emily's voice was drowsy, as if she wasn't quite sure why she was awake.

Sydney sighed. "Jack, I know you're awake," she said. "So could you stop pretending you're not and go get your sister a glass of water?"

"_Mom_--"

"And please stay in the bathroom until your father or I tell you to come out."

"Fine," Jack grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and taking his little sister by the hand. He paused halfway to the bathroom door. "Sark is blackmailing you?"

"The bathroom, Jack," Michael said tersely, never taking his eyes from Sydney.

"Fine," Jack said again. He paused once more before opening the bathroom door. "But I never liked that guy, Mom, you should--"

"_The bathroom_," Michael repeated, his voice dangerously quiet.

Jack led his sister into the bathroom without another word.

"And close the door all the way, Jack, you think I can't see that you've left it open a crack?" Sydney called after him.

The bathroom door slammed shut, and Sydney turned her attention to Michael, who stood before her in the clothes he hadn't bothered to remove before laying down to rest, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Michael," Sydney said, struggling to stay calm. "I know you would rather Sark not call me. I would rather he not call me, either. But I need you to keep a clear head and help me out here."

"How did you leave things with him?" Michael asked tersely.

Sydney sighed, running a hand back through her hair. He wanted to know the gory details, fine. "He said if I didn't want to fuck him anymore, that was fine," she said, not letting her gaze waver from Michael's face. "But that I'd better not think of trying to push him out of his place at the Organization."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "And what did you say?"

Sydney rubbed her temples tiredly. "I said, Michael, that I wouldn't dream of taking his power away just because I no longer wanted him as a lover, but that he'd better not threaten me again, or I might just change my mind." She let out a brittle little laugh. "And then he calls me and threatens me the first chance he gets. That son of a bitch, we should go back and take control of that damned Organization and see what the hell he does about it."

"You'd do that?" Michael questioned. "Just for spite?"

Sydney sighed once more. "No," she said. "I don't know."

Michael stared at her. "Because you know that's not possible," he said. "Do you really think your mother would allow that?"

"I could figure out some explanation for why we ran off," Sydney said dismissively. "Besides, Sark's going to take her out."

Amazement shone in Michael's green eyes. "Would you listen to yourself? You're talking about someone killing your mother as casually as if you--"

"Oh, don't get all high and mighty with me, Michael." Sydney was furious that they were even wasting time talking about this when they should have been figuring out a plan. "You've had a vendetta against my mother for years, don't tell me you wouldn't love to see her gone."

Michael didn't say anything, only continued to stare at her as if he didn't know who he was looking at.

"Listen, Michael, we have a choice," she told him. "We can meet with Sark one last time, give him all the intel we have on the Organization, and be rid of him forever. Or we can keep running and take our chances that he won't send my father after us."

Michael looked away. "It's pretty clear what choice you want to make."

"Michael, if Dad gets his hands on us again, we are going to prison." Sydney hated the pain in Michael's eyes. But she had to make him understand. "And I can assure you, there won't be anyone there to bust us out this time."

Michael was silent for a long moment. "When you talk to Sark again, tell him we'll tell him what he wants to know," he said finally. "I'm going for a walk."

He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Sydney waited for a moment, then moved to the bathroom to tell the children to come out before she sat back and waited for Sark's call.


	33. Allies

****

Chapter Thirty-three: Allies

Sydney's phone rang precisely an hour after Sark's first call, as he had promised. Michael hadn't returned by the time the call came; Sydney couldn't say she was surprised.

He'd watched her sell her soul to her mother more than a decade ago. He didn't need to be there to see her sell it to Sark.

"Oh, Michael," she whispered to herself as she moved to answer the call. "Why do you even love me?" He'd sold his soul, too, sold it long ago. To her. And she'd let him, because she'd been too weak to go on without him. She was still too weak.

"Sark," she said into the phone. She looked across the room at her children-- Jack, silently reproving, and Emily, blissfully oblivious-- and in that moment, she hated herself for what she was about to do. Unfortunately, she saw no way out.

"Sydney, darling," Sark said conversationally, as if he were simply calling her apartment to ask if she wanted to go out for a movie-- not that the two of them had ever done anything so normal. "I assume you've had time to think about my little proposition."

"Yes," Sydney whispered, gripping the phone. This was so completely sick, the way she was dreading giving him information about an organization she cared nothing about.

Deep down, though, she knew that it wasn't selling out the Organization that was bothering her. It was that she was giving in to Sark, letting herself fall under his spell. Yes, if she did this, she and Michael and the children would be safe. They'd also be living in a home Sark had provided, in a place he'd selected. Completely under his thumb.

Safety had never looked more stifling.

At that moment, Michael entered the room. Though the expression on his face was neutral, his very presence made Sydney's heart soar. He had to have known that she would still be on the phone with Sark when he returned. If he had come back now, it meant that he was ready to support her.

And as she looked at him, she knew it was time for her to do something for him.

"Should I tell you where you should meet me, then?" Sark asked.

Sydney locked eyes with Michael, and, taking a deep breath, she said, "Go to hell, Sark."

Michael's eyes widened, and Sark's sharp intake of breath told her that he was surprised, as well. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Sydney assured him. "You want intel on the Organization, wrap your pretty little head around figuring out a way to justify releasing my father into your custody to my mother and get it from her."

There was a long silence before Sark spoke again. "You realize then, Sydney, that I'll have no choice but to send Jack after you."

"Do as you wish," Sydney told him. "I've spent the last ten years under someone's thumb, Sark. I'm not about to let you put me under yours. I'm through making deals."

Another long silence on Sark's end of the line. "Then God help you."

Sydney heard a click on her end of the line as he hung up the phone. She took that as her cue to hang up hers and look at her husband, a question in her eyes. 

He opened his arms to her in answer, and she rushed into them. His lips caught hers, and he kissed her over and over, everything in his movements, his body, telling her how full of love and relief he was. "Thank you, Sydney," he whispered, over and over again. "Thank you. We'll make this work. I promise we'll make this work."

"Of course we will." They had to. No CIA, no Organization, no allies.

Except each other.


	34. The Final Chapter

****

Chapter Thirty-four: The Final Chapter

A plane, not unlike one of the many they've been on in the last six months. But unlike those, this plane is taking them to a place they can call home. If only for awhile.

Nearly immediately after Sydney spoke to Sark, made her decision, Sydney, Michael, and the children boarded their first plane. They wouldn't stop for months. Paris, Athens, Rome. Countless other cities. They do not travel under aliases, false identities, changing their hair color and clothes. They are never in any one location for their names and identities to matter, anyway.

That will stop today.

Their children need a home, a school, a life, and that means that the Vaughn family is finally going to have to settle down. After months of research, they have finally found a small little island in the Caribbean where they believe they will be safe, at least for a year, two maybe. 

It will not be the life they have always dreamed of. Sark, Irina, and presumably Jack Bristow are after them, and that means that Sydney and Michael will spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. They feel terrible about the childhood they are giving Jack and Emily. But deep down they know that it is a life better than the ones they would have lived as minions of the Organization. At least on their own they are not handing their children a one-way ticket to a life of crime, a life that provides many material comforts but makes it impossible to sleep at night. Or to look at yourself in the mirror in the morning.

Their actions over the past decade will dictate the rest of their lives. They will never truly be free.

But they will have each other. And they can only hope that that will be enough.

****

THE END 


End file.
